


Warning Shots

by Florencia_7



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant + AU, F/M, Hopefully Not (Too) OOC, I Haven't Written Anything In a Long While, Love Story, No Longer a Short Story (Duh), Post-Series, There Will Be Plot (At Least That's the Plan)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 113,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florencia_7/pseuds/Florencia_7
Summary: Post-S8. Ultimate loyalties require ultimate betrayals, but most perilous is the fine line between them.
Relationships: Carrie Mathison/Yevgeny Gromov, Carrie/Yevgeny
Comments: 332
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This short story will probably have several chapters and it's just meant to be a tribute to Homeland. I haven't written anything in quite a while, and I'm actually pretty scared to start posting this story here... which is (one of) the main reasons I decided to do so ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Homeland. (If I did, there would be season 9.)

**Warning Shots**

**Chapter 1**

The idea comes to her in a dark, humid hotel room in Ramallah.

She must become what she had to destroy.

A gust of wind throws the rickety window open, fills the room with grains of dust and the scent of the desert.

It is just a thought, a faint, blinking light against the backdrop of this starless night, but she clings to it with all her might, this sudden beacon of redemption in the dark.

The noise wakes Yevgeny up and he props himself on an elbow to look at her from the couch squeezed in between the bed and the window.

"Carrie? Is everything alright?"

She must look like an apparition, sitting cross-legged on the bed, pale, fully dressed in black, too tired to sleep, illuminated only by the overcast moonlight.

"What exactly happened in the asylum?" Carrie asks without looking at him. She doesn't have to. She can easily imagine the expression on his face as he slowly pulls himself to a sitting position without taking his eyes off her.

She isn't entirely sure if it's good or bad, but it occurs to her that he probably knows about her more than anyone else in her life ever knew or wanted to know. She also thinks about what he said, about her trusting herself in the moment. So here it is, another one of such moments. She has to believe she is right, that maybe she didn't read him wrong. Maybe he is just too much like her. Some things matter. But certain things always matter more.

Until they don't, which is the part she hasn't gotten to, never will.

But maybe he already has.

Carrie shifts her red-rimmed eyes to Yevgeny and holds his gaze.

It is the oldest trick in the book but she is certain that this time there is a catch and so she is headed into an uncharted territory. It does not help that she finds this challenge oddly repulsive, because she isn't sure why, but she just can't shake off this strange, instinctive urge to always be honest with him, and so far it has proved to be, and from now on it will probably always be, the most inconvenient paradox.

"I wish I knew," Yevgeny mutters under his breath.

His somewhat perplexed tone makes her heart clench, and she realizes that if everything goes well, this ridiculously painful pang of guilt that follows is going to be the first of many.

Squinting into the darkness, Carrie tries to focus on why she should not have second thoughts. He held her captive for seven months. Withheld her meds. Manipulated into humiliating herself. Told her to kill Saul. Made her a traitor in everyone's eyes. There is no reason she should be feeling guilty toward him about anything.

_"You can't leave me here! You can't leave me here!"_

Still, she can't stop wondering if he genuinely earned her trust, even if she still doesn't remember how exactly it came into being. Or perhaps it is all a masterful deception and she is the one being played like a broken pawn, still.

"What do you mean?" Carrie raises an eyebrow, trying to color her tone with a hint of sarcasm. "That your memory got wiped out as part of the process?"

"No."

She holds her breath thinking that it is a particularly cruel trick her mind is playing on her that his voice makes the room seem less dreary.

"I mean,” Yevgeny continues after a pause, “that one night I woke up with that excruciating pain in my chest and realized that the world's changed forever."

His hyperbolic honesty freezes her. Or is it an act? He has no reason to pretend anymore.

Which is probably what he must be thinking about her too.

_"Because if it is true, by God if it is, it would mean that you are vulnerable to him in ways neither of us can even imagine."_ Saul's strained, horrified voice echoes in her head along with those unhelpful warning bells that always make a lot of noise but have yet to ever actually save her.

Only that Saul got that story wrong. It is not her who is vulnerable.

"Sorry to hear that," Carrie says brusquely. "On the bright side, it clearly didn't seem to impair your professional capabilities."

Yevgeny makes no reply, just continues looking at her and a cold shiver runs up Carrie's spine at the sudden, aerial memory of her walk near the building wall, several floors high in the air. She wasn't bluffing when she told Simone what was in store for her. She was certain she was right. Yet now she seems equally certain that this could not happen to her. Why wouldn't it? Her usefulness ran its course and she has become a liability.

"Well, it didn't seem to impair yours either."

It is a retort she does not expect and it angers her not because of what he is implying, but because a part of her knows he is right and it is a risk factor she would rather do without.

"If you are referring to me not telling you about the flight recorder right away, then apart from the fact that it was clearly the right decision, please don't tell me you consider it the same level of wrong as your elaborate scheme to use me as a tool to inflict damage on my own country."

"There was no elaborate scheme, Carrie," he says with a sigh and then adds in an unnervingly matter-of-fact tone. "Not to mention that it wasn't about damaging your country. It was about stopping your country from damaging mine."

She is too tired for quarreling about world history, so she decides to leave this discussion for another night.

The certainty that there will be another night takes her breath away for a split second and she wonders how it is even possible for a feeling to be simultaneously that frightening and that comforting.

"In any case, just so you know, I'm not buying you coming to Kabul just to check in on me," she says hastily, mostly to distract herself from her own thoughts.

"Why not?"

She stifles a humorless snort. "Because here I am, and it's all your fault," she scans the room with unseeing eyes before returning her gaze to him and adding tonelessly. "Maybe not all of it, but-" She tucks loose strands of hair behind her ears and purses her lips in a grimace. "So are you going to tell me what happened in the asylum or not?"

"I already told you," he insists, watching her through hooded eyes.

There is something uncanny about the way in which his voice seems to wrap itself around her. She almost wishes it was unpleasant, that she would have to make an effort, a sacrifice of some sort. But instead she has to keep fighting this inexplicable need to be close to him, as if his proximity could restore something to her, something in her.

Or perhaps she is just romanticizing the rudimentary yearning to know exactly what happened. Maybe what disguises itself as an almost mystical bond is just her brain trying to retrieve missing memories. A Stockholm syndrome case is what Maggie would say.

"Apparently, I told you things I've never told anyone," Carrie says after a pause, trying to keep her voice from trembling. "And I find it hard to believe that was just because we enjoyed taking strolls in the woods together."

Yevgeny tilts his head to the side a little more, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. "So why do you think that was?"

She opens her mouth to reply but then realizes he knows the answer. Or at least he believes he knows. Clenching her teeth, she wonders if it _is_ the answer. What if it is? She was feeling so hollow inside for so long, she doesn't even know how to verify what she is feeling right now.

Without another word Carrie turns on her side, tucks a pillow under her cheek, and soundlessly tries to steady her breathing. She needs to figure this out, somehow. Her fuzzy new plan may be relying on him having genuine feelings for her. But her having genuine feelings for him is not a desirable twist.

"I had him killed, you know."

Yevgeny's voice drifts to her through the limited, crepuscular space between them.

"Whom?" Carrie asks abruptly, without considering his words for too long, her gaze fixed on the wall.

He doesn't answer right away. "Alexander," Yevgeny finally says in a low voice.

Carrie stiffens, feeling absolutely nothing for a few seconds even as hot tears gather in her eyes, and she bits her lip to keep it from quivering.

It shouldn't affect her so. But it does, and her reaction upsets her, because she can't make herself care about the apparent injustice of executing someone for following orders. Because this hazy, contradictory logic seems like something she can identify with. Because a part of her _is_ glad he is dead. But mostly because, in a rare moment of self-pity, she can't keep the tears at bay and a muffled cry escapes her. It's not about that particular incident at all. It's about what it represents, one of countless examples of her recklessly damaging herself for the greater good, an ignoble symbol of her fatal flaw.

Carrie's breath catches in her throat when she suddenly feels Yevgeny's arms wrap around her from behind, his hand finding hers and squeezing tight.

"I'm sorry," he whispers with his face buried in her hair and it feels so utterly comforting that it scares her to her bones. "I'm sorry about all of this."

She doesn't believe this sudden change of heart. He didn't seem to be sorry mere five hours ago. He got everything his country wanted. And as a bonus he got her at his mercy, to do with as he pleased. Yet she feels that his apology is not entirely meaningless, and also that there is a much-needed respite to be found in not having to be the one making amends that never seem to be enough anyway.

She doesn't really know what to say, so she just interlaces her fingers with his and closes her eyes when he kisses the tears off her cheek.

Somehow the touch of his lips ignites blurry images which flash across her mind like fractured snapshots. She thinks she remembers his hands on her face, his voice. Whether these are real memories or pictures conjured up by her own mind based on his vague words she doesn't know. It doesn't seem to matter much anymore.

Maybe Saul was right, maybe she is vulnerable. But this is her problem, not her country's. After everything she's been through, she has to believe she can handle this particular dichotomy.

Because with her past sealed off and her future uncertain, with nothing left and nothing to lose, right now she seems to exist only through this superfluous, unexpected feeling shimmering within her like a withered, invincible lighthouse in a storm.

It seems to her that the warm, lingering kisses he is pressing to her neck and the side of her face are pushing away the tiring insomnia, replacing it with something soft, something peaceful.

Carrie brings their intertwined hands to her lips and feels him shudder when she brushes her lips against his hand.

"Carrie..."

Yevgeny's voice breaks just as something breaks within her and for the first time she allows herself to feel how much she wants him. No matter what happened. No matter what he did. No matter what she will start doing a year or two from now.

She turns around and reaches out to touch his face. Snuggling her head into the pillow, she watches him for a few moments, carefully taking in every detail of his face as he leans into her touch.

She remembers being so absurdly afraid of him, more than she ever was of anything or anyone. But perhaps there was wisdom in that, a premonition that one day he would become the ultimate threat.

"Don't leave me again," she says in a barely audible whisper, hoping that this truth doubling as a skeleton key will not turn out to be her undoing.

Despite the duskiness of the room, she can see his eyes light up, as if he just heard what he has most longed to hear.

Her arms wrap around his neck when he leans down to trail kisses across her face. "I won't," he whispers against her lips. "I won't," he repeats so earnestly that for a moment she wants to forget ever contemplating to undertake anything covert.

But she can't forget. She cannot forsake this new, self-imposed mission.

Which does not change the fact that somewhere between a failed suicide attempt, mourning the loss of another friend, and becoming an enemy of the state to protect her country - she fell in love with him.

"I love you," Yevgeny murmurs before brushing his lips across hers, kissing her gently, then ardently when she kisses him back.

She is too world-weary for that. They both are. And yet it does not seem to matter somehow.

Tonight feels like the first, the last, the only day of their lives.

"I love you," she whispers back on an impulse, her heart hammering in her chest at the realization, at the miracle and the tragedy of it all.

Gently cupping her face in his hands he smiles and kisses her again, before rolling over and gathering her into his arms.

"Have you slept at all?" He asks, leaning his head against hers and tightening his embrace around her.

It catches her off guard, this tenderness. She would need to learn how to function in a relationship like that.

"No," she admits, snuggling into his chest when he starts caressing her hair.

"We have to leave early tomorrow. Close your eyes."

She does, but then opens them again when he begins to sing in his native language.

She tilts up her head to look at him, but her questioning smile is answered by a playfully serious, narrow-eyed look.

"Close your eyes."

Closing her eyes, Carrie resumes her former position, and Yevgeny continues to sing under his breath what she guesses must be a lullaby.

Half way through making a mental note to ask him what the song is about, she falls asleep.

Not for the first time, she dreams about a labyrinth.

But for the first time, she is not in a hurry to find a way out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More a fun fact than a summary, but... I think I edited this chapter too many times ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for giving this story a chance, for all the beautiful comments and kudos! :):):)

Next morning Carrie wakes up in Yevgeny's arms, and while she is quite aware she may have a non-standard understanding of the word, for the first time in a long time it crosses her mind that she feels _safe_. The sharp-edged shards of the past days and years are still weighing in on her mind but for a change she refrains from rummaging through them with bare hands. Will the world end if she let it be for a while?

His sleeping face seems aglow in the sunlight, which makes her recall seeing him for the first time, as if emerging from bleak shadows. Paradoxically, there is something incredibly hopeful about the juxtaposition of now and then. It makes her feel like everything is possible.

Yevgeny's eyes blink open and he kisses her, a wordless morning greeting, which becomes a habit on this journey and later on, in their glass-paned home in Moscow, during holiday trips to Porto, Zurich, Paris.

After leaving Ramallah, they make an unscheduled stop on their way to Syria, during which to Carrie's bewilderment Yevgeny brings her Faqqua Iris flowers and a piece of pomegranate cake.

She makes a wry comment and suddenly the conversation flows from there in a frighteningly natural way. Talking to him feels so easy, she starts remembering this singular sense of freedom that follows baring one's soul to someone else, to _him_ , without the fear of being misunderstood, judged, condemned.

What she doesn't say is that she starts remembering things, mostly good things, which may or may not be alarming, because she isn't sure if it is because they are easier to recall or because her mind considers them more important or perhaps it is just a subconscious exercise in self-defense.

She remembers him taking her hand during one of those fateful walks in the woods. She remembers that it startled her. Not the gesture itself, but a random, petrifying thought that it might have not happened at all.

Back in the car, Yevgeny is watching her with a thoughtful smile.

"You can't read my thoughts, can you?" Carrie aims to verify in a not entirely jocular manner.

Reaching out to hold her hand in his for a few moments, he gives her the most non-reassuring reassuring reply. "Only if you let me."

xxxhomelandxxx

Several days later, on the train to Istanbul, Carrie watches the fast-changing landscape through the windows, thinking about all the people she will never see again, all the graves she will never visit.

Her expression turns morose, which doesn't escape Yevgeny's notice. With his uncanny ability (that she makes a mental note not to ever underestimate) to correctly assess the nature of her silence, he does not say anything.

"I was already out," she finally says with a derisive grimace. "I keep thinking I _just_ ruined everything, but the truth is everything was already ruined. They would never let me back in with holes in my head and all those question marks they think surround every single thing I've ever done. Maybe it's better this way. They think I'm a write-off. Well, I _am_ , so," she adds with a shrug, blinking back the tears.

She takes a sharp intake of breath when Yevgeny turns to her and cradling her face in his hands makes her look at him, his eyes boring into hers with utmost intensity and something else, something indescribable that makes her want to live.

"You are a hero, Carrie. You are the bravest person I know."

She tilts her head to the side with a teary smile, thinking about what she has in mind for her future in Russia to be like: becoming the asset she had to give up. Will this prove he is right?

"If having no scruples is bravery," she scoffs, studying his face, looking into his eyes and ruminating about what he would do upon discovering that fundamental secret, the last and only one she resolves to ever keep from him. Would he give her away? Would he kill her? Would he forgive her?

Would he defect for her?

This last ludicrous thought bursts in her head like Fourth of July fireworks, and for a few seconds she is drowning in fear and relief, momentarily stunned by this perfect, dizzying, impossible solution.

"Risking your life for your country is. Repeatedly choosing to become the collateral damage is too."

Yevgeny's voice pulls her out of her reverie but for a few moments she is too overwhelmed by the combination of her epiphany and his words to speak, so she just anchors her hands on his shoulders instead, and slants her mouth across his in a feverish kiss.

He immediately gathers her into his arms and kisses her back. It strikes her that there is something methodical about the way in which he deepens the kiss, as if he wants to break through all her defenses one by one, unravel the mystery one glimpse of the truth at a time.

It makes her ponder if he could grasp what she can barely grasp herself. That she can defect without ever betraying her country. That she can be all his and never his at all.

"Let's get married," she whispers between kisses, her lips touching his as she speaks.

She wants some part of this life to be real and this suddenly occurs to her as the best way to achieve that, even if the logic behind this idea is sketchy at best. She may marry him because she loves him, yet this marriage will inevitably become a cover for her operative work.

Yevgeny smiles wistfully, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Carrie's ear. "Okay."

The word echoes in her head and for a split second she wonders if he _knows_ , like he knew back then when he also agreed to her _"Islamabad first"_ only to click the cage trap closed a moment later.

What if he can be all hers and never hers at all too?

xxxhomelandxxx

Standing on the ornate balcony of a hotel in Turkey, Carrie stares out at the sea. The sound seems to be growing louder, just as the sight of the waves is fading into darkness.

It is their last stop before going to Russia and for some reason her brain picked this particular string of strangely tranquil days for the onslaught of memories.

_"Don't you have somewhere to be?"_

Carrie's own voice reverberates in her head along with a grayish snapshot of her tired face. She remembers actually hearing her own heartbeat, a dull thud after a dull thud as if her heart was struggling to keep going after the ninth hour of interrogation that was going nowhere, and she was somewhat perplexed that he apparently still thought she might change her mind.

_"Don't you?" He retorts, watching her from across the table. "Tell me something that matters and you will be free to go."_

_Ever since Simone's testimony she expects something drastic to happen. The malicious ruse with her pills was clearly just a warning. Yet other than the lack of lithium, dehydration, and hours-long staring contests not much seems to be happening. What bothers her most is that she can't figure out the root cause for this surprisingly mild mistreatment._

_"You really expect me to believe that?" Carrie says with a derisive grimace._

_Tilting his head to the side, Yevgeny looks straight into her eyes, placing one of his hands flat on the table, which reminds her of Quinn stabbing Brody's hand, a memory from another lifetime_ _,_ _a ghost story he has not read. "At this point I really don't know what it is that you expect," Yevgeny says, squinting. "A rescue party?" He looks around the empty room before returning his gaze to her._

_Carrie clenches her teeth. It seems like a waste of time to tell him that she knows Saul is surely doing all he can to negotiate her release. Spoken out loud, the words would sound pathetic. They kind of do anyway, even in her own head. Which does not make her know them to be any less true._

_"Do you need help with your persuasion techniques? Because they suck," she snaps instead. She can feel how dry her lips are when she speaks, and tastes blood when she quickly runs her tongue over them._

_Something flickers in his eyes, something she can't quite decipher._

_Holding her gaze as he stands up,_ _he_ _slowly turns around and leaves the room. When he comes back, he places an_ _incongruous cup of tea_ _in front of her. She immediately pushes it away and rises to her feet._

_"Are we done here for today?"_

_"Do you think I drugged it?" He asks, glancing at the_ _drink_ _and giving her a slightly impatient look. When she doesn't answer, he takes a step toward her and she doesn't move despite the fact that he is now standing oppressively close. "When I decide to have my way with you, I will have you lucid."_

_There is no space to take another step, so she just thrusts up her chin and asks icily, glaring at him with all the strength she can muster. "Does that mean I'll be getting my meds back?"_

_His gaze is impenetrable but she notices that odd flicker again, as if with some frighteningly acute perceptiveness he somehow noticed that, contrary to her intention, there was more hurt than anger in her voice, and so she decides to test a theory._

_That night, back in her desolate cell, she ties the bed sheets together._

Slowly inhaling the sea-scented air, Carrie laughs brokenly into the night, feeling as if some weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She leans over the railing and closes her eyes.

So she didn't try to kill herself as a result of lithium withdrawal. She didn't have a breakdown. Didn't lose hope that Saul would get her out. Wasn't tortured into compliance. Didn't lose her mind over divulging some classified information.

She just wanted to check if she was right, if he kept watch over her, if he cared whether she lived or died.

And so she effectively verified that he did, and after two months without regular doses, she got her medications back, and Yevgeny started taking her on walks outside of the building.

_"So... what nice books did you have in mind exactly?" she decides to spark a conversation when it seems that he is not going to say anything, apparently just accompany her while keeping his hands in his pockets and eyes on the dusty road._

_"You didn't exactly met the requirements for receiving them," he mutters in a surprisingly matching tone, impassive yet not quite._

_She shrugs. "It seems fair to at least know what I missed out on."_

_Out of the corner of her eye she sees his mouth twitch, and then his eyes dart to her, but she is prepared to look as if she did not want to endow her words with any hidden meaning._

_"You didn't thank me for saving your life," he says somewhat abruptly and she smiles to herself a little at this quite desperate attempt to lure her into some sense of obligation._

_"What's your home address again? I'll send you a thank you note once I get out of here."_

_It is only a ghost of a smile that passes through his face but she notices it at the same time as the birch trees, millions of green leaves sparkling in the sunlight, and it feels like a Polaroid picture she will never be able to erase from her mind when he slowly turns to her and finally gets one up on her when he says that right now, his home is here._

With her eyes still closed, Carrie listens to the obsidian waves crashing in the distance.

It hurts like a fresh wound, recalling that after those three mystifying months of them spending so much time together she could not imagine what kind of fabricated nonsense he must have been writing in his reports, he was ordered away. As a result, she spent what turned out to be her last two months in the asylum alone, without her meds, her condition deteriorating faster than at the beginning…

She does not realize she was cold until Yevgeny drapes his jacket over her.

"You were shivering," he says into her hair, as if apologizing to intrude.

No one has ever treated her as if she was that fragile. It would have probably angered her if anyone did. But somehow him treating her like that always feels so sincere that it does not upset her at all, even if it means that maybe he understands something about her that even she doesn't.

His hands are still grasping her shoulders from behind and she can feel his breath on her cheek before he presses a lingering kiss to the side of her face.

"I've been having some flashbacks," she says vaguely.

He is silent for a few moments, but she does not elaborate, so after a moment of hesitation he tells her that he would be inside.

Sliding his hands down her arms before drawing them away, he turns around but she stops him, her fingers lingering on his wrist.

Their eyes lock and not for the first time she thinks how much she likes how he gives her all the space she needs but then it only takes the slightest hint for him to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

Pressing her to him as closely as possible, his hand gets tangled in her hair, and he whispers her name like an incantation when they stagger from the atramentous darkness into a dimly lit hotel room.

It feels liberating to just let the past and the future scatter into oblivion, at least for a while, at least until she will have to pick up all the pieces and use them to invent a new life for herself.

She closes her eyes with a sigh when he starts trailing kisses across her neck, while his hands, so warm her skin feels like it is burning under his touch, wander all over her with reverent impatience.

She knows she cannot rule out the possibility that he has these moments of spontaneity under control and is still dead set on some particular outcome that she is completely in the dark about. But it is becoming increasingly difficult to care about his potential ulterior motifs, when he captures her mouth in another fervent kiss, maneuvers them toward the bed, and then holds her gaze while slowly, deliberately aligning his body with hers.

It feels like a gust of wind rushing through her mind, this sudden, glowing realization, resolve, belief, that whatever secrets both of them still carry from their past lives, there is a place torn out of time, context, and consequences, a place that is pure and theirs only, that they found without looking for it, where they can always see each other clearly, for who they really are, who they could have been.

Carrie cups Yevgeny's face in her hands, looks at him, struggling to breathe while he is studying her face just as closely. The room is still and quiet save for the sea raging outside. Then he kisses her, at last, relentlessly. She wraps her arms around him, doesn't let go as the world bursts into iridescent flames and they kiss until they fall asleep.

xxxhomelandxxx

Carrie expected the first few weeks in Moscow to be an ordeal but for some reason they are not so. Yevgeny is present during every hearing and she is not bothered or questioned much at all.

"I told you not to worry, baby,” he tells her with a wink when she expresses her bafflement.

She shakes her head, still finding it strange that within just a couple of weeks, he managed to arrange for everything to go so smoothly.

Unless…

Brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers, he kisses her softly on the mouth, and keeping her hand clasped in his, leads her to the car.

_"Me? I'm more of a planner."_

The words are ringing in Carrie's ears as they drive to the Sparrow Hills, and she wonders if it is possible that he did have it _all_ planned out. What if her ending up in Moscow was always a part of the plan?

"You are still worried." Locking his arms around her from behind, Yevgeny props his chin on her shoulder while they are taking in the skyline view from atop of the hill.

"I tried, a couple of times, to start over, do something else, but it never worked out. What am I going to do with myself now?" She voices some mostly true if no longer relevant concerns, which she thinks should sound believable.

"I was hoping you might consider just being my trophy wife," Yevgeny says with a shrug, making Carrie snort under her breath. "But if that's not your preferred option, just tell me what you have in mind, and we will make it work. There are so many humanitarian agencies, foundations, educational institutions here, other places which could allow you to do what you are best at."

Tilting her head to the side to look at him, she asks, genuinely curious what he might say. "And what is that?

His eyes light up when he smiles at her, that warm smile she finds most difficult to resist.

"Saving the world."

Turning around in his arms, she places her hands on either side of his face, the endearing certainty in his voice making her smile.

_"Our own, private network, eh? Wouldn't that be nice."_

She remembers his disoriented anti-war rant and wonders if propensity for saving the world could actually be the key trait they have in common.

_"Couldn't- couldn't we do better?"_

He may not know it yet, but maybe they could? She just needs to fix some of his mistaken beliefs.

After coming to terms with her own.

"On the second thought, I think I need more time to decide if a 9 to 5 job will be more fulfilling than waiting on you in my lingerie."

He smiles, leaning in to kiss her. "Do I get to weigh in on this dilemma?" He asks when she wraps her arms around his neck and after another smile kisses him back.

"I think I know what I will do in the meantime," she says, resting her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and taking a slow intake of breath. "I'm gonna write a book."

Running his open palm up and down her back, Yevgeny presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Okay."

His simple enough acknowledgment of her idea makes Carrie's eyes blink open and she wonders if she will ever stop repeatedly finding herself under the impression that every time she conjures up a deus ex machina, he just ticks a checkbox.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look! It's a cliffhanger! Um, just trying to distract you from noticing that this chapter is probably too long... but it just wouldn't make much sense to split it, so ;)

**Chapter 3**

Yevgeny answers Carrie's bewildered look by telling her she did not specify she wanted a private ceremony, which is true. But that was because she did not expect him to invite three hundred people. Or organize the ceremony in a castle with gold-plated ballrooms. It crosses her mind that maybe like Saul, he likes hiding things in plain sight, and since her being here could never be free of controversy, perhaps he decided that the best course of action was to just flaunt her presence in everybody's face.

"Do I want to know what they think as to why this is happening?" Carrie asks in a low voice when they step out of the car.

Yevgeny smiles a little, taking in the sight of her. "You clearly do.”

She watches his face when he reaches out to push an astray lock of hair out of her eyes.

"You should know better than to publicly claim responsibility for me."

"Why?" He asks, still smiling, but she realizes her comment makes most sense in the context of what she would rather he did not know.

"Well, I have a history of going rogue," she offers.

Both of them may think they can handle one another, but only time would tell if either of them was right.

He takes her hand in his, laces it through his arm. When he speaks, it sounds more like a beleaguered apology than a reply. "I think I can claim responsibility for that."

xxxhomelandxxx

It feels more like a royal ball than a wedding, Carrie thinks with a wry, inward smile, sashaying around the room in her lace-and-organza bridal gown and diamonds in her strangely styled hair (a rolled-inside chignon is what the hairdresser called it). She briefly wonders if Saul would be gratified seeing her converse with Kremlin's officials over truffles or would rather reiterate what he told her on his makeshift ploy of a deathbed.

As of yet, she presumes, probably still the latter. She needs to give him more time. She also needs more time herself. Under the circumstances, rushing into things is not a good idea. Which happens to be both a reasonable piece of advice and a convenient excuse to postpone any actualwork related to establishing a dependable network. She finds herself cherishing each lies-free day, but tries not to get to attached to this rarefied feeling.

Taking a sip of her champagne, Carrie notices Mirov watching her closely.

"He looks at me like I'm a spy," she mutters, turning to Yevgeny when he returns to her after a conversation on the side. She does not mind not being included, it is too early for that. Hopefully the book she is writing will help to cure some of these people of some of their distrust. Or perhaps it will just lead to her having her passport revoked. On most days she is not certain which of these outcomes is more likely, and if she will not end up losing everything to gain nothing.

"Well, you are," Yevgeny replies with a smile.

"Was," Carrie corrects flatly, drawing a breath.

Sometimes when the realization of what she is doing hits her with full force, she thinks how preposterous it is to believe she can outplay Yevgeny of all people. At the same time, this precise aspect of the situation makes it feel less pernicious, somehow. If only it could really just be a game they could talk about once it is all over.

Yevgeny shrugs. "It's not a profession. It's a calling."

She does not ask what he means, because she does not know what would be the best reaction to his answer. She can't blame him for still hoping she might actually defect, because she can't stop thinking about eventually making him defect too. As inconceivable as either of these scenarios is.

What she is not sure about is whether it means that they still love their countries more than they love each other? Or precisely the opposite? Or perhaps there is just no difference between these two feelings anymore.

xxxhomelandxxx

"Very good. Now lift one foot and put it down before lifting the other," Yevgeny explains, standing in front of Carrie with his hands under both of her hands.

"Next time you don't understand a concept, just look it up," she mutters, lifting one of her ice skate shoes. "This is not what a honeymoon should look like." Almost losing her balance, she falls hard into Yevgeny's arms.

"We'll get to that part," he whispers into her ear with a smile, kissing the snowflakes off her face and mouth.

She smiles into the kiss. It seems like a trust exercise of some sort, which she finds superfluous, really, considering that for all intents and purposes she already put her life in his hands.

"Don't look at the ice, Carrie," he says seriously, steadying her. "Look at me."

She does, and he pushes them off into a glide. It feels terrifying and beautiful at the same time, to believe that if they stay harmoniously close together, they won't crash.

Leaning onto him, she thinks the sound of the blades against the ice is probably her favorite part, and also the cold air in her hair and his eyes fixed on her, as if there was no one else in the world.

In the evening, they go swimming in a rooftop pool, lie stargazing for the length of a few poems he whispers into her ear in Russian.

It is the absence of pain, she suddenly realizes, this strange feeling glowing inside her. She knows it will not last, but it makes her glad to just know what it feels like.

Back in the hotel suite he massages her feet while they are in a bathtub together listening to a Rachmaninoff's concerto.

"This is more like it," Carrie replies to his question whether her opinion about their honeymoon has improved.

His eyes narrow in a lop-sided smile, the one she has never seen in public, only when they are alone. She wonders if she has got a smile like that too.

"So what were you thinking about a moment ago when you frowned?" Yevgeny asks, lightly kneading each of her toes.

"You keep track of my facial expressions?" She asks, raising an eyebrow, and splashing some water at him.

He tilts his head to the side, looking at her with bright eyes.

She sighs, a small frown returning to her face. "Jalal Haqqani," she admits after a pause and is gratified by a nonplussed look on Yevgeny's face. "There was that newspaper in the shop downstairs… It reminded me… Is anyone even looking for him, communicating with him? Do you know? Or does he think he doesn't need anyone? It may not take much for him to go off the rails and no one would benefit from that."

So far he has not tried to pry any information from her, not even when she would let him read the drafts of her chapters. He would respond to what she wrote or said, but he never pressed for more. The downside to that of course was that it made her reluctant to ever bring any such topics up, but the opportunity seemed to present itself, so she blurted the questions out as casually as she could, just to check the remote possibility of him casually responding to any of them.

"You've been thinking about Jalal Haqqani right now?" He widens his eyes at her, feigning dismay.

She shrugs with a small pout and he studies her for a few more seconds before rising to his feet, and to her amusement unceremoniously fishing her out of the water and carrying her to the bed.

The sensations coursing through her are too dizzying to allow her to reflect for too long on how compliantly she responds to his every touch. But it does cross her mind that perhaps she lost the ability to challenge his intentions, as if he was the only person who could never betray her again, a dangerously indefensible exception.

When she nestles into his arms, still trembling, her heart beating wildly in her chest, she feels weightless and blissful.

And acutely aware he did not answer any of her questions.

xxxhomelandxxx

"I'm glad you enjoyed that," Yevgeny says with a smile as they are walking down the stairs, exchanging comments regarding the jazz concert.

The final weeks of writing her book, this Trojan horse only half-sincerely disguised as a catharsis, wearied her out. She felt overburdened with memories, confused as to who she really was now. A superspy, a traitor, a whistleblower, an international relations consultant, a charity officer, a perfidious lover, a loving wife.

A sudden commotion interrupts Carrie's train of thought, and she catches a glimpse of a woman being dragged toward a car, her dark hair curtaining her face when she is pushed inside.

Carrie freezes, wondering if Yevgeny noticed the woman's purse was identical to hers.

"Do you know her?" He asks and she scolds herself inwardly for having apparently reacted in a way that warranted such a question.

"We met her at the reception in the Brazilian Embassy last year, remember?" She hopes this will be explanation enough and to her relief it seems to be.

In the meantime, the car with the woman quickly vanishes from view.

With a frown, Carrie contemplates the loss of the message and consequences the interrogation of the woman may have, although she did take a few precautions in case something like that happened.

"Carrie?"

She must still look noticeably discomfited, because when they are alone in the car, Yevgeny brushes her cheek with the backs of his fingers to shake her out of her visibly grim thoughts.

"You are safe here. Always will be," he says when she looks at him.

It dawns on her then that he apparently thinks she is so shaken up by what she has seen because it made her think about the possibility of her being arrested if she ever returned to the USA. Oddly perhaps, but she did not get as far as ever thinking about that. Being arrested by Russian authorities on espionage charges always seemed like a more relevant concern.

She nods and gives him a weak smile.

Yevgeny's genuinely concerned look, his hand grasping hers and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles are all harrowing reminders that in her current position there is a thin veil between her and a nastily drawn-out oblivion - and this veil may just happen to be solely made out of his love for her.

She thinks of that as they drive back home through the glittering streets of Moscow, and when they make love until neither of them can breathe.

Maybe it is the greatest self-deception of all, this sense of safety his closeness brings her. But because of it, her main concern before falling asleep can be the logistics of finding another courier.

xxxhomelandxxx

Several days later, she asks Yevgeny whether he heard anything about the woman from the concert hall, because she figures this is a less conspicuous approach.

"Mirov's direct order, apparently a private matter, at least officially. He's become rather paranoid after Anna."

The name feels like a slap every time and Carrie bites her lip with a grimace. The shadow of this woman she never met seems to stick to her conscience like a bloodstain she can't wash off. Sometimes she imagines Anna watching her from beyond the grave with bright, piercing eyes, waiting for some karmic tragedy to unfold.

"Carrie. This one is on me. Stop blaming yourself for it," Yevgeny says, cupping her face in his hands.

"I can't. It's just an item on a very long list anyway," Carrie says with a sigh and a humorless smile, her voice growing toneless.

Something about the way he hugs her makes her wonder which deed exactly he is comforting her about.

xxxhomelandxxx

Running her fingers up Yevgeny's arm, Carrie trails kisses along his jawline, and he smiles before he opens his eyes.

She does not really understand why but she likes waking him up in the middle of the night, and she does it from time to time, just to ask him a question, tell him something that earlier slipped her mind, kiss him, silence the noise in her head, shake off a bad dream.

"What if there was no flight recorder? What if... there was no leverage?" She asks, leaning over him, her chin propped on his chest.

He reaches out to trace the contour of her lips with his fingertips. "Well, then... we wouldn't be here right now," he says under his breath, gently sifting her hair through his fingers, his eyes wandering all over her as if he simultanously was striving to and has already figured her out.

It seems like an answer true enough and yet she cannot help finding it chilling - until he adds with a warm smile:

"We would be somewhere else, at some other time."

This inevitability of _we_ makes her smile. "So it's fate, then, you and I?"

He rolls them over, plants kisses across her collarbones, charts the length of her thigh with his fingernails.

"I wouldn't trust something as treacherous as fate to make you mine," he whispers huskily into her ear.

It feels like a love declaration, a threat, an apology, a promise, and a confession, everything at once. It should terrify her, but it doesn't, because there is a part of her that only cares for contradictions and he is the epitome of that. Just like his country, with its susceptibility to evil and unparalleled capability to understand all that is bright in the human soul.

White-hot stars sizzle and shatter all around them, and when he kisses her again, it suddenly strikes her like a lightning bolt that she is no longer afraid of pain, death, incarceration, failure, going mad.

There is only one fear left in her. One she cannot brave.

It is only losing him that now frightens her.

xxxhomelandxxx

The incident after the jazz concert results in no aftermath, and her entire network continues to thrive. Her book opened more doors than she expected it to. Step by step, she gains access to people and places which were off limits before. The messages she transmits to Saul grow in significance. She juggles a couple of part-time jobs and ad-hoc assignments, goes to the gym, attends Russian language classes. She is in love and feels loved. It is all around just the jarring kind of happiness she could ever hope for.

About two years after her first message makes it out of Russia, she receives an oblique acknowledgement from Saul that makes her so giddy she keeps grinning for no apparent reason during her yearly checkup before the doctor's words actually register in her mind.

She blinks when they do. Blinks once, twice, stops smiling and stammers some cliched "that's not possible" line before driving home with a dull headache pulsating in her head.

Yevgeny is already home when she storms in. Without sparing him a glance, Carrir heads straight to the cabinet to grab her contraceptive pills before confronting him.

"You switched my pills!" She slams the plastic bottle on the table in front of him. For a dramatic effect, perhaps, because she has no proof and there is no way to tell, but somehow she knows she is right.

It is the first time since their arrival in Russia that she shouts. It is the first time she is angry, an attitude from the past that feels both familiar and foreign. She is fuming, struggling to remember how to glare at him, trying to recall the man who punched her in the face when she ruined his grandest scheme, instead of the one kissing her into oblivion every night, singing her lullabies, teaching her to ice-skate, carrying her up eighteen flights of stairs when she once complained in jest that she was too tired to walk up to the elevator.

"Why?" She demands impatiently when he does not react to her outburst, and just continues looking at her in silence. "You, _you_ of all people should _know_ ," she chokes on an empty, broken laugh, "I don't know how to be a mother. Why would you do this to me?"

Her tears finally break his silence, and he walks up to her, clasps his hands around her shoulders. "That's not true, Carrie. And you don't really believe that either."

She shakes her head, tears rolling down her cheeks, onto his hands when he cups her face in his hands.

What he did was wrong and she does not want to stop seeing it for what it is, a manipulative move, but the longer she looks into his eyes the more she feels her anger dissolve into sadness.

"Yevgeny, I can't. Do you understand? I _can't_ do this."

He gently strokes her cheeks with his thumbs in a soothing gesture. "If you couldn't, you wouldn't tell me about it."

Her forehead wrinkling in confusion, she considers his words for a few moments. She was so caught up in how upset she was it did not cross her mind that she could have just dealt with this situation on her own, without telling him anything.

"I didn't think you might want… You could've just told me," she says with a grimace.

He gives her a wistful smile. "There are a lot of things we could've _just_ told each other."

There is a pause. Maybe real, maybe imaginary. She holds her breath, because he looks, just for a moment or two, as if he is waiting for her to say something.

But she doesn't.

He hugs her and she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I didn't switch the pills, Carrie," he says into her hair and her eyes blink wide open.

Maybe it is the truth or maybe he just hazards an educated guess that she did not verify her hot-headed accusation.

"But I would want this very much. If you would want it too.”

She is looking around the room with unseeing eyes, not sure how real a choice it really is, not sure if she ever actually did _not_ want this, if she didn't just get upset on principle.

Drawing back to look at her, he cradles her face in his hands and starts smiling at her. It's an entrancing, conspiratorial, contagious smile, and she shakes her head with a resigned snort.

"It's the fifth week. Everything's fine, but... the doctor says they'll have to monitor the baby's heart more closely because of lithium." She draws a breath and then continues, trying to keep her voice from quivering. "There is also... a risk of post-partum psychosis-"

"Carrie," Yevgeny interrupts her gently, caressing her face. "It will be okay."

She wants to tell him that he cannot know that, but he sounds so certain that it ignites in her the belief that it might actually be okay.

On the next day, she throws the pills away without testing them to check if what he said about not switching them was true.

xxxhomelandxxx

She has been waiting for an informant for several minutes already. He urgently requested the meeting, and now he was running late, never a good combination.

Checking her phone while pacing around the abandoned factory, Carrie thinks that being six months pregnant is probably not the best time for such escapades, but this potential possibility to verify what may prove to be a crucial lead is too important to ignore.

She turns around at the sound of the door screeching, but then a slightly impatient look on her face turns into an appalled one, when instead of an inconspicuous chemistry professor, it is Mirov who appears in the doorway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! :)
> 
> So... in case anyone wonders how long this (um, *originally* meant to be short) story's going to be: “I'm not trying to be evasive, I'm just still putting the pieces together.” ;) I also don't know why these chapters are getting longer... because believe it or not, I don't feel like I have much (any?) control over that haha On that note, none of us (meaning Carrie, Yevgeny, and I) knows what happened at the end of this chapter... so bear with us lol
> 
> Oh and I don't know if you've already noticed, but I can't write chapter summaries, so if that's ok with everyone, I'm just gonna troll this section ;)

**Chapter 4**

Carrie immediately pushes away the useless thought that it is all over, but her entire body goes rigid. It will not do, just to escape. She will have to do something else.

Maybe it is the stress or the pregnancy or both, but for a moment she feels a searing pain in her chest at the realization that the last five years may go up in flames, just like that. All the work she has done.

All that she loves.

_"I don't know, I just think… when you love someone, you love everything that_ is _them."_

She does not remember what exactly they talked about that day with Yevgeny, sitting on a fallen tree log in the midst of their birch forest, but she remembers that moment, when he looked at her, a trace of grim amusement in his eyes.

_"Do you love Russia?"_

_"Do you love the USA?" She retorts._

_They look away from each other with ghosts of derisive smiles, as if they shared a good joke. But then there is silence. And it lasts._

_"This is just a piece of you," he says after what feels like a very long time. "You are more than a sum of what you love."_

The memory is as ill-timed and ill-fitted as this wave of regret which washes over her is, because she would have hardly chosen to do anything at all differently.

"Have you ever wondered why he left the asylum?" Mirov says and Carrie pulls herself out of her reverie, guessing that her silence must have prompted him to broach the subject from another angle. "Rumor had it that the two of you were getting perhaps a little too cozy, so I decided that it'd be safer to send him away. And add some antidepressants to your menu. I read somewhere that along with the lack of lithium they can have quite an effect,” he adds as an afterthought, regarding her with cold eyes. “And they did, didn't they?”

Standing very still, Carrie glares at him, having at last understood those violent manic episodes during her final weeks in the asylum. But she does not dwell much on that, all her faculties focused on this moment now.

"I have to say, I didn't think you'd recover. Much less that he'd still be interested in a dishevelled psychotic sidelined by her own country. Then of course it all came in handy. Only that afterwards he didn't do away with you like he ought to. I always thought that was very stupid."

_Not as stupid as you coming here_ , Carrie thinks, clenching her teeth, before she snaps out loud. "What do you want?" Because he would not go into that soliloquy if he just wanted to expose her. If he came here alone, it meant he had no intention of a publicized show or making an arrest on the spot... yet.

Mirov looks at her in silence for a few moments, as if he is preparing to savor the moment. "I told him everything."

She does not believe him. Somewhere in between the tornado thrashing through her thoughts and numbingly cold shivers running up her spine, one thing that she does not doubt is that whatever Yevgeny would want to do with her or to her upon finding out, he would do it himself.

"Everything is a big word," she says with a scornful grimace, clandestinely sliding her hand into a special pocket in her bag strapped across her arm, almost out of sight.

"I'm sure you understand how unpleasant it would be for him, so I offered to help."

"How gracious," she says wryly. "Only I still don't know what it is that you think you discovered?"

"I'm sorry, but idle talk was never my specialty."

The gun glistens in his hand but then he screams when Carrie suddenly disperses a pepper spray straight into his eyes, in a split second snatches the gun from him and without a moment’s hesitation shoots him in the chest with it.

A high-pitched sound that starts ringing in her ears makes her realize she has not heard gun shots in a very long time. Her hand is shaking when she lowers the weapon, and she is wheezing when she tries to inhale.

Maybe he just wanted to threaten her. But it would have to end this way anyway. She does not believe he told Yevgeny anything. And there was no point in risking her or the baby's life just to find out what Mirov knew or suspected or wanted. She would make no deal with him.

He does not move, and the blood stain on the floor is growing bigger, so Carrie saves the rest of the bullets and dashes out of the building.

It is drizzling and the wind tosses her hair into her eyes when she makes her way to the car. Once inside, she notices that her wet clothes are splattered with blood.

Clutching the steering wheel with both hands, she tries to understand at which point she made a mistake, how he tracked her MEPhI contact down.

But there is no time for that right now.

She is trying not to drive too fast as she rushes back home. Home. She feels the tears gather in her eyes at the thought that everything could have slipped through her fingers. If it was still not going to. There would be no one to blame other than herself… and everyone else. It did not matter anyway. This conundrum has become unsolvable a long time ago. Who was guilty of what, who was to blame. And how many homes did she really have?

The rain always makes her think of Brody and the sound of bullets breaking through the skin of Quinn. Staring at the traffic lights, Carrie hopes she can make it back before Yevgeny. It is 6pm. He said he would be back at 7pm, and she is supposed to be in her Russian language class until 8.00pm.

Her heart hammering in her chest, she makes a sharp turn into the garage, parks the car, and heads to the elevator, holding a book in her arms to cover the bloodstains in case she would run into someone.

Thankfully, she makes it to the apartment unseen and without a moment's delay, throws the clothes into the laundry machine, wraps the gun in paper towels, and hides it in her office with the intention of getting rid of it later. She glances at the newspaper clippings on her way out of the room. Even after finishing the book, she did not take them off the wall, she is not even sure why. Or maybe she is. Maybe they keep her in pain she thinks she deserves, keep her grounded. One day her entire life may be reduced to a clipping like that, she thinks dully, heading to the bathroom.

She takes a shower, standing under the stream of water for a very long time, breathing in and out, feeling too drained to immediately start thinking what her next step should be now.

When she rinses her hair, she hears the door open and close.

She strains her ears listening to the sound of footsteps, lets go of a breath when she is convinced it is him.

"Carrie?"

Without turning the water off, she tiptoes to the bathroom door, trying to read something, anything from his voice.

"I'm in the shower," she calls out in the most casual voice she can muster, leaning her forehead against the door with a grimace.

She hears a step, just one. He must have already been by the bathroom door, exactly on the other side.

Carrie holds her breath, struck by an odd impression caused by the quietest sound, that unconsciously mirroring her movements, Yevgeny may also be resting his forehead against the door now.

"Carrie? Do you need anything? Towels? Clothes?"

"No, thank you. I'll be out in a minute." She bites her lip to keep herself from crying. She does not quite understand why she is so shaken up. She has lived through much worse.

"I'm glad you're home early," he says after a pause and she makes something up about the second hour of her classes getting cancelled.

Maybe it is this startling contrast between the hectic, bloody world outside and the strangely snug reality of this serendipitous home. Or maybe what happened today was a stark reminder that she is hanging by a thread over the abyss, and it is not a question of _if_ she will fall into it, but only of _who_ and _when_ will cut the thread.

When she appears in the living room some minutes later, a dinnerware is waiting on the table and Yevgeny comes up to her with a smile and kisses her before interlacing his fingers with hers, and leading her up the stairs.

"I want to show you something," he says when she asks where they are going.

Her tone is hushed, tired. For a moment she imagines telling him everything, and it feels breathtakingly wonderful, like a dream, having nothing to hide, nothing to lie about. She feels the tears sting the corners of her eyes. Because she just does not know how to live like that.

They go to the room adjacent to their bedroom, meant to be the baby's room, still empty as far as Carrie knows, but when Yevgeny pushes the door open, she almost gasps at the sight.

The room is space-themed, completely furnished and decorated, kept in the blue-red-white color scheme, illuminated by glowing planets and stars.

It should not really surprise her in the context of all those outrageously expensive presents they are sending to Frannie, and also Ruby and Josie several times a year (to Maggie and Bill's chagrin, she is sure, but while she would never choose to gratuitously upset her sister, upsetting her brother-in-law is unfortunately a kind of an additional incentive).

But it is not how lavishly decorated the room is, but the choice of colors that captures Carrie's attention.

"I've never thought about this before, that our flags are made out of the same colors," she says quietly.

She can feel him smile against her skin when he wraps his arms around her and presses his cheek to hers. "So you like it?"

"Yes." She says, a few tears rolling down her cheeks when she tries to smile.

Her eyes are wandering around the room, between the glimmering lights. She thinks how peaceful it must be in space, among the stars. Wouldn't that be nice if the eternity was like that too, if there was peace after death... Or at least, if after death she could be sitting in a grungy room across from Yevgeny, just looking at him in silence.

"I think you should quit, Carrie," Yevgeny says, turning her in his arms to look at her, brushing the tears off her face with his thumbs."The language classes," he clarifies, but her heart still skips a bit. "You look tired. They take up too much of your time and they are too late in the evening. Quit, at least for a couple of months. Although I don't think you even need them anymore," he says the last sentence in Russian and kisses her when she smiles a little.

She is about to shrug it off but he looks at her so intently as if it was a matter of utmost importance. In a way, she thinks, maybe it is.

After what happened today, it was probably a good idea to lie low for a few weeks, maybe even until after the baby is born,to see what would happen and figure out what went wrong. Figuring things out probably did not amount to doing nothing, but it would have to do.

She nods slowly. "Okay."

Leaning his forehead against hers, he gives her a faint smile. She clasps her hands behind his neck, and kisses him gently on the mouth, and when he kisses her back, it feels like a purifying fire running through her. Every movement of his lips takes her further away from anxiety, exhaustion, and everything else she does not want to feel. What remains is the fierce possessiveness of his love and tonight she feels like letting it swallow her whole.

Running her fingers through his hair, she tilts her head to the side, smiles when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses across her neck.

A buzzing sound interrupts them and he drapes his arm around her when she leans her head on his shoulder, breathing raggedly.

Trying to catch his breath, Yevgeny pulls a phone out of his pocket, glances at the number and waits a second or two before picking up.Something in his demeanor makes Carrie pay attention to the conversation even as she presses a soundless kiss to his cheek and walks away, into the baby's room to look around it.

She knows Russian well enough by now to know what Yevgeny is saying but he does not say anything that would allow her to make much sense of the conversation, although she does not doubt that it is possible Mirov's body has already been found.

When she stands by the white crib, brushing the ruffled skirt with her hand, she notices a blanket inside, the pattern of white stars against the blue background.

She turns her head to look at Yevgeny when he brushes her hair off her shoulder and presses a kiss to her neck.

"I have to go."

"Why?" She turns around, her forehead wrinkling in a frown.

"Emergency meeting." He says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Mirov's dead."

She does not try to look surprised or concerned. "What happened?"

"A car accident," Yevgeny says noncommittally with a sigh, looks at his phone and then at her, after a seconds-look delay, as if giving her time to compose herself or think of something to say. Or maybe she is just over-interpreting it this way.

"Car accident?" Carrie echoes mechanically as dozens of thoughts are tumbling through her head.

She does not ask for details, but he gives them to her. It _sounds_ like a car accident and she is so taken aback she does not know what to say.

"I have to go," he repeats, squeezes her shoulder in a soothing gesture. Leaning toward her, he presses a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her lips, and walks away after giving her a small smile.

"Yevgeny-" She trails off, his name escaping her without thinking, like an instinctive cry for help. She shakes her head when he turns around. "It's nothing. I'm sorry. I know you have to go."

She draws a breath, tries to smile, even if for some inexplicable reason she just cannot imagine being here alone tonight.

He looks at her intently for a moment before walking back toward her. "What is it, baby?"

His voice is soft, but this particular endearment always makes her feel uneasy, reminding her of him being one step ahead of her when she least expected it.

She tries to keep a tremor out of her voice when she answers. "I just wish you didn't have to go. I've been feeling a little queasy all day. I don't want to be here...” she trails off, because 'alone' does not feel precise enough, “without you,” she says after a pause.

Maybe it's the tonelessness of her voice, maybe it reminds him of something too. Or maybe it is a transcendental power of truth, maybe he can tell this is the most sincere explanation she can give.

He takes her hand in his. "Would you like to come with me?"

She widens her eyes at him in mock astonishment. "To your meeting at the GRU?"

He swings her hand a little in a gently playful manner. "No, not to the meeting," he says with a flicker of amusement in his eyes and she stifles a weak snort. "But you could wait for me in my office."

It seems like an incredulous proposal, but there is no reason for her to raise possible objections if he does not seem to have any.

She changes her nightgown to regular clothes and they drive to the GRU headquarters, saying little while in the car. She can't stop wondering what it means that Mirov's death is considered a car accident. She hopes it is just an official cause and that it does not mean that there actually was a car accident, because the latter could only mean that someone knew what really happened, someone was there, and was for some reason covering up for her, and the last thing she wanted was to be indebted to someone for this kind of unsolicited assistance.

The GRU building looks as imposing as she remembers it. The dark shape seems to be towering over the entire area under the dark, night sky.

A few minutes after they enter Yevgeny's office, a woman with a pleasant smile brings Carrie a cup of tea and assures her that she can call her if she needs anything.

"I don't know how long it will take," Yevgeny says, ushering Carrie into his chair. He squeezes both of her hands in a reassuring gesture, leans down to kiss her and leaves the room.

Before closing the door behind him, he peeks back inside. "Don't snoop," he says with a wink and a small lop-sided smile.

She stifles a snort, and them another one, when once alone, she thinks that despite the nerve-wracking circumstances and the exhaustion, snooping does seem very tempting.

But the computer on his desk is turned off, all the cabinets appear to have locks in them, and keeping in mind that the discussion happening a couple of rooms away was triggered by the death of a man she shot a few hours ago, she decides not to do anything other than just wait for Yevgeny to come back.

There are no pictures, personal items or embellishments of any kind in his office. It is rather pristine overall. Neutral. And quiet. The entire building seems quiet, unlike that other time when she was here once before.

Leaning back in the chair, Carrie turns her head and looks thoughtfully out of the window, the deceptively close brightness of city lights filling the dark space outside. She wonders if she would leave right now, if someone showed up, trying to convince her that leaving, immediately, was her only chance to survive.

Overcome with drowsiness, she closes her eyes, but then opens them again when she feels the baby move. "Right. Better to stay alert," she mutters with a weak smile, placing her hand on her belly and feeling the baby kick again.

It does not feel like a long time before Yevgeny comes back.

"You don't look as out of place behind a desk as you think you do."

Straightening up a little, Carrie's eyes shift toward the door. "Why? Do you have a job offer for me?"

He smiles. "Always."

She snorts under her breath, and he comes over to help her to her feet.

"How do you feel, Carrie?"

She smiles at the sheer sensation of his warm hands cupping her face, and covers his hands with hers. "Better.”

When they get back home, Carrie feels as if she returned from a long journey. It bothers her that she cannot verify right away if the car accident is merely an official version, but she decides to let it go for the time being and appreciate that the world did not slip from under her feet just yet.

She falls asleep in Yevgeny's arms, but when she wakes up in the middle of the night, he is not there.

Sliding off the bed, Carrie grabs a satin robe on her way out of the room, and goes straight to the most likely place where she thinks she can find him.

She knocks twice before entering. “Hey, I came to retrieve my favorite pillow.”

Yevgeny looks up at her from above the computer. “I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you,” he says with a smile. “Just felt like starting on this right away.”

She nods in wordless understanding, not entering his home office room, she never did and she believes he never entered hers either. “So when will the new director be appointed?” She asks, wondering if what he is doing right now has something to do with Mirov's death or rather a new workload caused by that unexpected incident.

There is a twinkle in Yevgeny's eyes that makes her heart skip a bit. “After the interviews. There are a few candidates.”

She narrows her eyes at him, leaning against the door-frame. “Wait. Are you?...”

“Working on a five-year strategic plan proposal for the GRU? Yes.”

They exchange smiles and Carrie straightens up, crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay. Well, then I guess I'll leave you to it,” she says, ready to leave, and he does not attempt to stop her, but something in his gaze does. “So what does it take?” She asks in a lower voice. “To be appointed. If there are several candidates.”

The wheels which are usually turning noisily in her head seem to slow down, softly come to a halt, as if her own mind was listening to her in disbelief.

He does not answer right away, and just continues looking at her. His gaze is pensive, intent, almost mesmerized, and she feels drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. “I guess it always helps to have something pivotal to say,” he says at last in a subdued tone.

But it does not burn, the flame. It is so close that she can touch it with her hands. It is bright and warm and can spread across the entire world, but it does not burn, not yet.

“I hope this five-year strategic plan will do more good than the previous one,” she says, in all sincerity. “I hope they choose you.” She does not move from her spot.

Slowly, he tilts up his chin, like he did a moment before he kissed her in Kohat, and it feels almost as enthralling as a kiss when without a word, he moves his chair slightly to the side, and brings another chair next to it.

Without breaking eye contact with him, Carrie makes her way across the room and sits down next to him in front of his computer.

“It's a high-level outline, a draft,” he says under his breath, his lips near her ear.

Her breathing becomes a little labored, her eyes fixed on the screen. She feels his hand comb through her hair, a completely absent-minded or an utterly deliberate gesture, she cannot tell.

After reading through the pages, she deletes a line and adds one point to the list.

When she turns toward him, he kisses her so passionately it feels like layers of blazing gold being draped all around her.

“That something pivotal to say,” she whispers when they lean their foreheads against each other, trying to breathe. “Do you want that in bullet points or a free-form text?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think this may be a good moment to state the obvious and say that this is a work of fiction! Lol You know, in case we get carried away with the spy plot later on ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your amazing comments and kudos! As a side effect of you being so wonderful, I'm afraid this story is going to be longer than I thought it would be ;) Oh, and I was thinking about updating more often, but with my job taking up way too much of my time *and* these chapters just getting longer & longer, it just doesn't seem doable at this time, so... for now I'll do my best to update once a week :)

**Chapter 5**

“Let's make a deal. You won't cry, and I'll feed you. Okay?”

Carrie gives the baby a questioning look, and there are three seconds of silence before the crying commences again.

“Or is it the other way around?” She mutters with a sigh, picking the baby up from the bassinet. It seems like a ridiculous thing to forget, but somehow she always found this parenting stuff harder to learn and remember than literally everything else. "Maybe I should feed you first, and then you won't cry?" She must look sincerely pleased with herself for reaching such an ingenious conclusion because Leo waves its tiny hands and seems to chortle at her.

Sitting on the edge of the hospital bed in her spacious single room that nurses appropriately nicknamed the flower room (due to Yevgeny having possibly bought out all the flower shops in the area), Carrie begins feeding her son, wondering if Frannie remembers anything at all from their time together. Maybe a memory or two from Germany, at least. They were not unhappy there, for a while.

The baby is quite content while eating, but afterwards, the crying starts again.

“Ready to go?”

Carrie glances over her shoulder and smiles when Yevgeny comes up to them, squats down next to the bed, presses a kiss to the back of her hand and cautiously brushes Lev's hands with his fingertips, which does not distract the baby from crying.

“Well, I hope at least _you_ are happy to be going home,” he says with a hint of humor, helping Carrie to stand up with their son in her arms, his hand sliding up her back in a soothing gesture.

She smiles. “Yes. I can't wait. Could you?...” After giving him the baby she walks away to get dressed, but halfway to the closet, she turns around, perplexed by the sudden silence. “What did you do?” She asks, genuinely curious and briskly walks back to Yevgeny, only to see the baby asleep in his arms.

“I didn't do anything,” he says with a shrug, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I just have this kind of a calming effect on people.”

Carrie stifles a laugh. “Right. This must be it."

While getting dressed, she watches Yevgeny carrying the baby around the room and thinks that maybe there is some truth to that amusing assumption too. He did have the ability to calm her down in the most frantic moments just by holding her, looking at her. Like when she wanted to storm a Taliban hideout on her own to save Max.

After splashing some water on her face, she slowly inhales. Some memories always hurt, no matter how old they get.

Before leaving the bathroom, Carrie catches sight of herself in the mirror, such a different look than what she was used to for so many years. Always on edge, in a hurry, sleep-deprived, perpetually in grief. Now, despite juggling this strange sort of a double-life she does not feel like that anymore. She feels and looks serene, unbound.

The ride home is peaceful and relaxing, despite the traffic. The car is warm, the baby's asleep, and John Coltrane's _Acknowledgement_ is playing in the background. She is looking out of the window, holding Yevgeny's hand in hers, absently caressing it with her fingers. There are people in the streets, in the cars. She notices a glimpse after a glimpse of all those other lives. It feels like a somewhat startling discovery when she realizes that despite how complicated and strange her life is, she would not exchange what she has now for anything else.

"I think it's been more than two months," Carrie says, looking around their apartment once they are inside.

Coming here after all those weeks in the hospital reminds her of when she walked in here for the first time. With its state-of-the-art décor and dramatic views, five years ago this apartment seemed intimidating and cold. But now it feels like home.

"Two months, nine days, and… five hours," Yevgeny says after consulting his watch.

She turns to him with a smile. "So you missed me _that_ much?"

Placing the portable bassinet with the baby in a secure spot, he reaches out, slides his hand over the full length of her forearm, before tugging her into his arms.

"More," he whispers and kisses her fiercely.

Cradling his face in her hands, she free-falls into the kiss, letting the feeling overwhelm her completely.

Somewhere deep in her soul, there is a scale, heavy with lies, flesh and blood, weighing her down, but when she loses herself in his arms, this metaphysical ardor somehow balances the rights and the wrongs out.

"And what were you doing to pass the time while I was away?" Carrie asks, wrapping her arms around his neck.

A trace of a lop-sided smile flickers across Yevgeny's face. He produces a business card out of his pocket, and hands it to her.

The card is in English, but she translates it to Russian when she reads it out loud, brushing her thumb over the black letters of his name. "Director of the Main Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation (GRU)." She pauses to draw a breath, as he takes his time nuzzling her neck. "You did it."

" _We_ ," he whispers into her ear and the word stabs her like a knife but the pain quickly disperses under the warm timbre of his voice. "We did it."

Even when Carrie squeezes her eyes shut, she can still imagine Saul's frown. Would he consider a meager impact on the GRU's overall strategy and vague prospects for accessing some confidential information in the future worth a highly classified piece of intel? But for better or worse, she is past caring for anyone's approval. Now she has to make each decision on her own. There are neither safety nets nor sounding boards available.

When Yevgeny lifts his head to look at her, she is smiling again. Holding his gaze, she starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Let's go celebrate."

xxxhomelandxxx

No one reaches out to her in connection with Mirov's death. Just like the apprehension of her courier from the Brazilian Embassy, it turns out to be a loose end. For now. There is no aftermath, almost as if it did not happen. With a sigh, Carrie thinks it may take just one more such a convenient turn of events for her to start worrying. Because there are no convenient occurrences like that. Only delayed traps and pitfalls.

And breastfeeding breaks. Carrie checks her watch before getting out of the car with Leo in her arms.

"According to the internet, you should be okay for the next three to four hours," she explains to the baby, who to her amusement must apparently consider this estimation funny, if a joyful giggle is any indication.

Carrie smiles at Lev, wondering if she will be able to carry on without a babysitter for long. But she thinks she is doing surprisingly well so far, and it is rather heartening to feel like that.

She heads for the park to a meeting with her informant, the one in whose place Mirov showed up almost half a year ago.

Due to some medical concerns after Lev was born, she had to spend in the hospital a couple of months instead of a couple of days, and now she feels like she has to do twice as much each day to just get back to where she was at before.

"Great timing," the professor greets her, when she approaches him. "I'm leaving tomorrow. I'm glad you are okay."

"Same," Carrie gives him a smile which turns into a frown. "You're leaving?"

"Yes, I'll be running a project in Japan. I'm sorry, but… I'm actually glad. I'd rather take a grant over a bullet, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, but- Did someone threaten you?" She asks, squinting, not sure what to make out of this development.

"No, no," he assures her, perhaps a little too vigorously, explaining that after he was instructed on the phone to set up a meeting with her to which he was not supposed to go to, nothing else happened. "That project, it's just a great opportunity."

Carrie nods slowly, studying him for a few moments in silence. He seems somewhat rattled, but not frightened. Which she would not find strange… if it was not the third person she spoke to today who behaved that way.

Walking back to her car, Carrie begins to feel really upset. It seems bizarre and unlikely but she cannot shake off what appears to be a logical conclusion. That during her time in the hospital someone has been busy dismantling her network.

Her train of thought is interrupted by the baby getting one of his hands tangled in her hair and awkwardly pulling on it. She smiles faintly at her son and presses a light kiss to his forehead, her expression growing pensive again.

After a few minutes, she places the baby in the rear-facing infant seat and starts the car.

She visits a couple of places where she works part-time to discuss the arrangements for the next few months. Everyone is being very cordial, delighted with the baby, which temporarily cheers her up. There is a conference she gets invited to, many updates, and some new projects to consider. She tries to listen as intently as she can, but finds herself preoccupied with her thoughts. No matter how much she tries to steer herself away from it, there is one particularly troubling explanation that she cannot rule out.

It is late, but she drives to the hospital to request a detailed medical report regarding her stay. When she is told she should already have it, she says she misplaced it and that a plain copy would be enough. It does not take long and soon she is back in the car, with the baby sleeping in its car seat. Thumbing through several pages she finds nothing that would justify her staying in the hospital for over two months after giving birth. No concerns regarding either her or the baby.

Staring into the distance with unseeing eyes, Carrie feels a pang of cold at the incredulous idea that Yevgeny could have something to do with that. She tries to reason with herself that even if he prolonged her stay in the hospital, he could have done it simply for her sake, to ensure she gets enough rest before she throws herself back into her fast-paced routine. It would not necessarily mean he had something to do with anything else.

She bites her lip frowning at her own efforts to automatically find excuses for his actions, even if those possible actions might include warping the reality to fit his idea of what was best for her.

She starts the engine, and drives home while mulling everything over once again. It is not like she never considered that he would notice or start suspecting something at some point. She just never thought there would be not the slightest indication of it.

In the evening, she tries to discern any possible signs, but his demeanor is impenetrable as always. It never occurred to her with such clarity before, but now it strikes her that she cannot really see anything beyond his love for her. It is strong and genuine, but it stands like a defensive wall between her and his thoughts. But whether he is protecting his thoughts from her or her from his thoughts, she does not know.

She places a cup of tea on his desk, leans down, and wraps her arms around his neck from behind. "Don't stay up too late," she says, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. "I'll go bathe Lev."

"Okay." He smiles up at her, brushes his lips across her wrist before she slowly draws her hands away.

After taking the baby from the bassinet placed near Yevgeny's desk, Carrie takes a few steps toward the door, but turns around halfway there.

"You've never said anything," she says under her breath, her eyes wandering all over his face, but his countenance is perfectly composed, and he does not seem to be confounded by the question.

"What do you mean?" He asks with a small, warm smile.

"You've never said anything to me about bathing the baby. Even the first time. You never go with me or tell me to be careful." She is nearly out of breath when she finishes her sentence, her voice dropping to a hollow whisper, tears glistening in her eyes.

His eyes fixed on her, he is leaning on his elbows propped on his desk, listening to her. This pose of his prompts her to ponder the realization that he listens, but it does not change what he thinks. He always listens when she sparks a conversation about their countries, explains her country to him, the way she understands it, the way she loves it. But she doubts he ever changed his mind about anything because of it.

As soon as she trails off he rises to his feet and walks up to her.

"What would be the point of bringing up that whole different realm?" He tucks her hair behind her ears. "You are here now. Happier, I hope. Safe." He smiles a little,playfully twirling a lock of her hair around his fingers before brushing the tears off her face with the back of his hand. "Hey, don't undermine that happiness claim."

She smiles back, leaning into his touch. "I _am_ happier than I've ever been."

She thinks he should smile more at that.

"I'm glad."

Maybe he would smile more if she said she was happy, not just happier now.

"But maybe… you'd like to go with us today? To see how it's done. There is a charity conference in a few days. I could go and you two could hang out." Carrie gives Yevgeny a questioning look, shifting her eyes between him and the baby.

"Of course," Yevgeny agrees easily. "We could do that."

In the bathroom he pokes fun at her for being clumsy while preparing the bath, and she laughs under her breath when the baby accidentally kicks him in the face.

"They say it's good to keep talking while washing the baby."

"Who is 'they'?"

"People on YouTube," Carrie deadpans and he smirks at her.

"I thought you might say that."

"I warned you I'm bad at this," she says, checking the water's temperature with her elbow.

He reaches out with his free arm to pull her toward him. "You are great at this, Carrie. You are great at everything."

She shakes her head with a smile that brightens her eyes and kisses him before drawing back in mock-dismay.

"I need to go get his favorite towel."

"He has a favorite towel?" Yevgeny gives their infant son an amused look.

"Yes, he does," Carrie reassures him seriously before walking out of the bathroom, smiling at hearing Yevgeny apparently follow her advice and talk to the baby.

But as soon as she is out of sight, her smile turns into a concentrated frown. She strides across the hallway, leaves her shoes on the top of the stairs and noiselessly rushes to where she has last seen Yevgeny's phone. Producing a small, electronic chip, courtesy of Max, out of her robe's pocket, she sticks it like a magnet to the back of the phone, watching the tiny lights on the chip blink red. It feels like the longest fifteen seconds of her life before the lights turn green and she removes the chip, hurries up the stairs, hides the chip in one of her slippers and heads back to the bathroom. On her way there, she grabs a towel from a hallway closet, hardly slowing down her steps to do so.

"Here it is," she announces upon entering the bathroom and she chuckles along with Yevgeny when Leo claps his hands.

xxxhomelandxxx

Listening to panel discussions about new charity projects across war-torn regions reminds Carrie about all the important things she could be doing without feeling conflicted about her work. Unfortunately, she still found it difficult to convince herself that what she was actually doing was not of utmost importance. She could not imagine ever letting go of that sense of responsibility that came from within, came before everything else, made everything possible, because she would not exist without it.

_"You talk about it as if it was a poem."_ Yevgeny once said when she ventured to talk at length about the US constitution.

_"What is Russia's constitution like?"_ She challenged with a smile, but all she got was:

_"This is not what Russia is about."_

"It is a small world after all indeed."

Deep in thought, her eyes fixed on the conference agenda, Carrie straightens up at the sound of a familiar voice, and it does not please her, because she intended to spend her coffee break alone, possibly to skip one of the upcoming discussions altogether to finally go through the contents of Yevgeny's phone, as for some reason she kept putting it off.

When she looks up, she does not even try not to look surprised. "I thought you were in prison," she blurts out, watching Dar Adal take a seat next to her despite her not inviting him to do so.

"I was," he replies, squinting. "Glad to see you in good health, Carrie."

There seems to be a trace of sincerity in his tone, but she does not return the courtesy. "I see alternative sentencing is a mess these days."

He barks a laugh, leaning back in his chair. "I don't see how you fit in here either."

After waving her VIP conference badge in front of him, Carrie takes a sip of her coffee. She notices Dar Adal's gaze drifting to the wedding ring on her hand.

" _That_ was actually in the news."

"Do you want an autograph or something?" She asks flatly.

He smiles thinly. "No. But I will be in The Moscow Museum of Modern Art tomorrow at 10am. Maybe we could talk." He glances around to apparently indicate that they could not really talk right now.

"About what?"

"He misses you," Dar says, ignoring her question. "Saul. It is as if he lost a child. I do know how that feels."

The last sentence stops Carrie short of another sour retort, because they both fall silent for a few seconds thinking about the same person. _"Just think of me as a light on the headlands, a beacon, steering you clear of the rocks."_ So much for smooth sailing, Carrie thinks sorrowfully.

"I'm not sure why you are telling me this." She shrugs, does not blink. She is rather certain Dar does not know anything, but she has to be careful.

"Some food for thought, maybe?" He turns toward her with that pernicious glint in his eye she never liked. "Saul wanted to extract you from the West Bank. He sent some people to his sister's house but when they arrived you weren't there. He was angry and upset, but he would've never just left you there. You must've known that."

It sounds like an accusation. Or maybe just an attempt to get a reaction out of her. She is not sure why Dar Adal of all people should care.

"Well, bad timing, I guess," Carrie says, trying to sound indifferent even as she feels her heart clench.

She could have just come back home to the USA right away. She could have come back.

"There were signals sent."

"I didn't get any. I wasn't listening for signals then," she says with a humorless snort.

When she looks back at him, he makes a point of glancing at her wedding ring again.

"I know. Just some food for thought, like I said."

xxxhomelandxxx

When Carrie gets back home, she finds Yevgeny in Leo's room, reading him a Russian fairytale.

She walks up to the crib without looking at Yevgeny, leans down and lightly kisses the baby on the forehead.

She can feel Yevgeny's gaze at her. It is not like she makes any effort to hide her mood, but regardless of that she knows he started deciphering the meaning behind her demeanor the moment she appeared in the doorway.

For a few seconds, the room is very quiet save for the fragile sounds of a lullaby.

There was a time when he would have probably just walked out, let her be, wait for her to decide whether she wants to say something or not. But that time seems very far away now, a light-year ago.

Rising to his feet, he puts the book away and moves to stand next to her. Carrie remains standing near the crib, watching Lev fall asleep.

“How was the conference?” He asks, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek.

It is this unsolicited tenderness, she thinks, that beguiles her every time. This ubiquitous warmth that she does not think she wants to ever live without.

“Not great,” she says under her breath, her tone devoid of that hint of harshness that was supposed to be there.

“I can see that. What happened?”

She does not protest when he turns her around, locks her in his arms. When he kisses her unhurriedly on the mouth she thinks that for a few more minutes she can afford giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Other than Dar Adal guilt-tripping me for being Saul's wayward daughter that he is going to mourn for the rest of his life? Not much.”

“I thought he was...”

“In prison? Yeah. I told him as much.”

With a sigh, Carrie maneuvers herself out of Yevgeny's arms and dims down the lights.

Yevgeny follows her downstairs where she pours a glass of water for herself, swallows the lithium and for a few moments just stands by the cabinet, staring off into the distance. She does not want to keep him in suspense or drag it out, but she is still trying to find the right words.

“He said they sent an extraction team after me to the West Bank. And that you must have known.” It is as descriptive as she can get without letting her voice quiver.

Her gaze darts to Yevgeny, and she is searching his eyes for the answer she already knows.

He is looking at her with that shadowy ghost of smile she knows only too well. Like when she asked him if he arranged for them to accidentally run into each other in front of G'ulom's office.

Pushing her hair off her face in a distracted gesture, she wraps her arms around herself. “So is this true?” She asks tonelessly, with a small shrug, giving him a questioning look.

His voice is low but steady when he finally speaks. “I told you I'd never leave _us_ to chance.”

She did not expect him to deny it, not really, yet it still feels like a sudden blow. She draws a sharp intake of breath, her face contorting into a grimace. “I could've just gone home!”

He blinks, and his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly, but it is enough for her to tell he is hurt. And despite the circumstances, it does not even puzzles her that she cares.

“And then what?” He asks, grabbing her arm when she tries to storm past him. “Let them lock you up in some recovery facility again?”

“You are a fine one to talk about locking me up,” she says disdainfully with a derisive snort, freeing her arm.

He does not reaches out for her again and despite the tears gathering in her eyes, she holds his gaze to make it clear she does not regret what she said. From the beginning of this conversation he was in the wrong anyway.

She waits for him to walk away but he does not and she can only look at him angrily for so long.

“So what do you want me to do, Carrie? Apologize? I would've done the same thing again. Because if you left that day, I would never see you again.”

“Is that supposed to be an excuse?”

“No. A clarification. If you really need one.”

She shakes her head with a grimace. “And what am I supposed to say to that?”

"That you wish we've never met?” He offers, his eyes boring deeply into hers.

She glares at him. “Don't do that.”

“Don't do what?”

“Don't turn this around like that. You know how much-” she chokes on her breath and feels the tears rush down her face.

In the blink of an eye he is there, pulling her into his arms, kissing her.

“Master manipulators, all of you,” she snaps, exhausted by the fight. If it could even qualify as that. Perhaps it could at least motivate her to finally check the contents of his phone that she downloaded five days ago.

“Who?” He gives her a questioning look, smoothing out her hair, smiling when she half-heartedly glares at him and stops him from kissing her again.

“You. Your President. Russians. Men. Everyone.”

She does not understand why he finds this amusing.

“My President? How do you know? You've never met him.”

"I don't need to have met him to know," she says, not in the mood for talking about politics right now. Without a smile, she slowly walks up to the sink to rinse her glass.

"So... you don't want to meet him?"

Somewhat exasperated, Carrie turns around, only to see Yevgeny place an envelope on the kitchen counter and slide it toward her. Narrowing her eyes at him, she grabs the envelope, takes out an elegant card, an invitation to some lavish event, no doubt. She wrinkles her nose at the realization the event is the President of Russia's birthday ball.

After looking at the invitation for longer than she needed to read it, she puts it back into the envelope, shifts her gaze to Yevgeny and receives a faint, warm smile from him when she says in a no-nonsense tone:

"I have nothing to wear."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add some more tags to this story, but then I realized they would all be spoilers, so I guess I won't be adding any lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos! It's so nice to know what you think :)
> 
> And it's not like I'm trying to solicit more comments or anything, but just so you know, tomorrow is my birthday! Do with this piece of intel what you will ;)

“What are you waiting for? Go to sleep,” Carrie mutters, snuggling her cheek into the pillow and trying to sleep despite the night lamp on Yevgeny's side still being on.

At first she could tell he was reading, because she heard him turn a page every other minute or so. But then this recognizable sound stopped, the room fell silent, and even though she was lying on her side with her back to him, she could feel that his attention was fixed on her, and it just would not let her fall asleep.

“I can't, Carrie. I'm waiting for you to stop being like this.”

She snorts under her breath. “Not gonna happen.” _At least not so quickly_ , she thinks to herself.

She is not really sure what is the appropriate amount of time to stay angry after this kind of a... betrayal of trust? Which was not really the case, since she did not trust him then. Or did she? If she did not, why would she not question a single thing he told her that day? She was angry with him, she blamed him for everything, yet the moment he told her they had to run, she just went along with it without even considering that she should verify what was really happening and if what he was telling her was true.

So maybe she did trust him back then and that is why it hurts now to realize he deceived her like that. Is he still doing it now? How much does he really trust her? And does she trust him now? Is it possible to trust each other selectively?

Lost in thought, she must have missed the moment when he moved closer and she is startled out of her reverie only when she feels his touch on her shoulder.

He is lying on his side, his head propped on his elbow, and he draws his hand away in a defensive gesture when she abruptly turns around to glare at him.

"I was just-”

He does that stuttering/pouting shtick of his, she does not even know how to describe it, but she just cannot help finding it disarmingly _cute_ , and it does not help her case.

“You can't do that," she sits up, fuming. "You can't. You can't go and destroy my life and then think I'll get over it in three hours."

"So how many hours do you need?" He asks matter-of-factly, and she notices that glimmer in his eyes, a sign that he thinks he has already won because he got her to turn around and talk to him.

"This is not funny."

His eyes follow her chemise's straps which choose this particular moment to slide off her arm.

"I don't think it is." He reaches out and moves the straps back up.

She narrows her eyes at him. "What would you do if I refused to go with you?"

"Are we still talking-"

"Yes, we are still talking about you deceiving me into fleeing abroad even though I didn't have to," she says brusquely.

He runs his hand over his face. "I wouldn't have to do anything. I knew you'd come with me."

The unwavering certainty in his tone sends a tremor through her. "If you are so sure, then why not tell me the truth? That the extraction team was on the way, but you _wanted_ me to go with you?" She tries to keep a scowl on her face, despite beginning to feel as if she is lecturing herself, not him, and it is not a pleasant feeling.

What if she told him right now that she loved him, so very much, but that nothing in this world could erase her homeland from her heart and that she has been spying in his country for several years now?

He gives her a faint smile, as if she should already know the answer to that. "Because if I told you the truth, then you wouldn't go with me."

"How do you know?"

"Because your head would tell you not to go."

"My head?"

"Yes, Carrie. The one that is now telling you to _act_ upset, even if you don't really _feel_ upset."

This catches her off guard and she stares at him in bafflement. "So what do you think I actually feel like right now?"

"Guilty."

She widens her eyes at him, hundreds of thoughts rushing through her head. "Guilty for what?"

He rests his head against the headboard, studying her through hooded eyes. "For not really caring how or why, but just being glad to be here with me now."

Her first thought is that it is true, but she still wants to laugh it off because of the sheer absurdity of it. However, her attention is suddenly arrested by him slowly sitting up, and bringing his face close to hers.

"Tell me you don't want to kiss me right now."

"This doesn't mean I'm not angry," she argues, lowering her voice.

He smiles a little, tracing the contour of her face with his fingertips. "Yes, it does."

Her forehead wrinkling in confusion, she tries to decide if he is right or wrong. It seems like such a strange assertion to make that she intuitively comes to the conclusion that the only way for him to have come up with it must have been that he realized this about himself.

"So people can't get mad at those they love? You might want to write that groundbreaking psychology book."

"I'm not talking about people." His voice is steady and warm, and he looks at her in this way she likes so much, _too_ much, as if she is the most precious thing in the world. "I'm talking about us."

She wants to backtrack from this conversation immediately, but it is too late. She feels like he is suddenly talking about something else, about _everything_ , and it makes her head spin.

Her eyes wandering all over his face, she leans her forehead against his when he embraces her.

"Do you feel that too?" He whispers, and the question makes her feel as if he is asking her to strain her ears to hear the quietest sound. He trails kisses across her face and hugs her, so hard. "That this can't break. That what we have can't break. _We_ can't break. No matter what.” He buries his face in her hair, holding her tight in his arms. “Do you feel that?"

She is out of breath, listening to him. His words, it is the strangest thing, light her up from within. "Yes," she gasps, because it is true, because she suddenly realizes she feels it, always felt it too, this certainty she cannot name, this love she cannot see through. "Yes, I do.” She leans her cheek on his shoulder. “What are we going to do?" She asks in a voice laced with dismay, as if it is the greatest calamity, a sudden catastrophe that just came their way.

It makes no sense and so it takes her breath away that when he draws back to look at her she can see in his eyes that he understands. Sliding his hand into her hair, he whispers with his mouth inches from hers. “Kiss me. Let's start there.”

xxxhomelandxxx

As she strolls into the museum with Leo in a front carrier, Carrie cannot tell by the expression on Dar Adal's face if he knew about the baby. He glances at Lev fleetingly, but does not say anything.

"You came."

"Yeah, I thought, let's meet up with someone who tried to kill me, it's so boring to just hang out with friends."

"That was a long time ago," Dar Adal says dismissively, as if it was an old anecdote. "And nothing personal too."

"It never is, is it?"

He smiles weakly. "Although I have to say it often seemed to me as if you actually enjoyed becoming a liability. Or it may just be a character flaw.”

“It may be,” she says without looking at him. Moving across the room to sit in front of one of the paintings, she gives him an indifferent stare when he catches up with her. "So who am I talking to? Are you back with the CIA?"

She does not think it possible that he might still be the CIA Black Operations Director, but perhaps he has found a niche for himself.

"No, not quite. However… "He shifts his gaze from her to the painting. "Believe it or not, President Hayes is quite fond of me."

Carrie widens her eyes at him. "I'm not surprised," she explains levelly. "That's just the face I make when I'm frightened to death." She shakes her head and adds under her breath. "As if he didn't already have a lineup of bad advisors.”

“He has won a second term, so he must've been doing something right.”

The baby making cooing sounds saves Carrie the trouble of responding to that. She presses a light kiss to her son's head and he snuggles close. The crying fits somehow went away as soon as they left the hospital. Maybe like her, he just does not like hospitals. Or maybe it is Yevgeny's influence. Or maybe she just really is not that bad at this.

Quickly pushing away the strange, foreign thought that she would rather be anywhere else right now, Carrie tries to refocus and concentrate on what Dar Adal is saying.

“And if by bad advisors you mean Saul,” he continues with a humorless snicker, “then yes, I was also advising him to retire. He actually almost did. Was all packed up and ready to go. But then he suddenly changed his mind.”

“Well, it's hard to quit some things sometimes,” Carrie replies noncommittally, even though she can feel Dar's intent gaze fixed on her, which she interprets as a suspicion but not certainty that she could possibly have anything to do with that. She does not really believe Saul would confide in Dar regarding their never verbalized, surreptitious arrangement, then again after all that happened he might have felt the need to do a reappraisal of all of his friendships and who knows what conclusions he might have reached.

“Yes, I imagine it is,” Dar says with a pensive sneer.

“So why are you here?” Carrie prompts with a hint of impatience in her voice. “What did you want to talk about?”

A couple of people enter the room and walk behind them, talking about the exhibition.

Reaching into his pocket, Dar takes out a fairly small, metal object and hands it to her.

Carrie shifts her gaze between the item and Dar's face. “And? They don't offer free consultations at a Home Depot near you?”

“I thought you might want to know. That's your mechanical failure.”

“My mechanical failure,” she repeats in a tone indicating she does not understand what he is getting at, which happens to actually be the case.

“Come on, Carrie. You spared no effort to retrieve that black box. You don't want to know what really happened?”

“So you came here to describe to me in detail what kind of a mechanical failure exactly caused President Warren's helicopter to crash five years ago?” She asks with a grimace, sincerely confused. The memory sending unpleasant, cold shivers up her spine.

She can still remember President Warren's gracious words to her, shortly before his death, possibly the only appreciation speech she has ever been a subject of.

Dar gives out a sigh of mock-exasperation. “I had to go through this one with Saul too. Is there some handbook I'm unaware of that says all mechanical failures always happen all by themselves?”

Carrie turns to him, blinking rapidly, her voice losing its blankness. “What are you trying to say?”

He looks at her with a cool smile that almost reaches his eyes. “I thought a defector like you wouldn't care.”

Stopping herself from an automatic refutation, she puts the metal part on the bench between them and stands up. “I don't.” She turns around, wrapping her arms around the baby.

“Carrie.”

She does not move and after a few moments Dar takes a few steps to stand in front of her.

“Do you have proof? That it wasn't an accident?” She asks quietly.

“I do. The crash site was not completely destroyed. Based on what was recovered, not much but enough, and numerous simulations, this was the conclusion. I have multiple expertises. It must've been consciously done.”

“By whom?”

“And who benefited most from that?”

“You think G'ulom was behind this?”

Dar looks at her as if trying to assess if she is really clueless or just pretending to be so.

“What?” She snaps.

It annoys her beyond measure that he shakes his head and looks away with a sigh as if she just failed a 2nd grade math test for the sixth time.

“You actually really do love him, don't you?”

“Yevgeny didn't have anything to do with that crash!” She says vehemently, biting her lip and taking a step back when a few people who enter the museum's room glance their way.

“Of course not,” Dar quips sternly. “He just happened to be a part of the Russian delegation which spent two hours in G'ulom's office four days before the crash.”

“At which point the President's trip to Afghanistan has not even been planned yet,” Carrie says with a grimace.

Uncharacteristically, Dar seems to take extra care to clear his voice from accusatory undertones when he says. “That trip idea came from you.”

She scowls. “To brief you on that FBI report you might've missed, I didn't know the President would take me up on this idea. I didn't even know I'd be in a position to talk to him about it. _He_ asked to speak to me. How could anyone know this would happen?” She is under an unpleasant impression that Dar is watching her as if he is waiting for some puzzle pieces to inevitably arrange themselves in her head.

“It wasn't a completely new idea. It was what Elizabeth Keane was planning to do. On your advice.”

“So what?” She gives him an incredulous look.

He tilts his head to the side, narrows his eyes at her, and she feels as if she is being put under a microscope.

“You don't think it's possible you mentioned that during your captivity in Moscow? And that someone could make an educated guess that since you were one of the architects of that peace policy and back in good graces, the President may ask you for advice and receive a similar recommendation?”

She can hardly stop shaking her head in disbelief while listening to him. “Now you're just reaching. And very far at that.”

“Maybe. But here is what I think. G'ulom wanted to sabotage those peace negotations any way he could, and so I do think he ordered the helicopter to be tampered with and I do think the Russians knew about it. That's why they wanted the black box and that's why they only relented to release it once they were sure there was nothing on it that would indicate that the crash was not caused by a random mechanical failure, conveniently nobody's fault. Frankly, I think getting you to identify Saul's agent was possibly a distraction, most likely an appendix, a cherry on top.”

Drawing a sharp intake of breath, Carrie walks off to another painting, looks at the sharp shapes with unseeing eyes. “Why are you telling me all this?” She asks tonelessly when out of the corner of her eye she sees him approach her.

“So you'd feel induced to help.”

“With what?” She asks, abruptly turning around.

“Jalal Haqqani made a deal with Moscow.”

Carrie jolts at the name, Max's lifeless face flashing through her head.

“What kind of a deal?”

Dar gives her a wry half-smile. “That's just the thing. We don't know. But it seems the Russians decided he is more pliable than G'ulom, and that handing Afghanistan over to the Taliban may better serve their needs.” He looks at his watch. “I have to go. But...” He looks at her, and she feels as if he is trying to see the person that Peter saw and Saul saw... maybe still sees. “It would help, if we knew what this agreement entails. ”

She holds his gaze, her face contorted in a grimace. She does not know what to think and she has nothing to say. A part of her wants to forget everything she has just heard, but the other part is already putting together a rough, chaotic outline of a plan.

And maybe it is that other part that he sees in her eyes, despite the pained expression on her face. Although she is not sure if by what he says right before walking away, he means to be compassionate or pitiless:

“Don't look like you are about to cry. At the end of all this, maybe you could have my old job.”

xxxhomelandxxx

The day started out so badly that Carrie does not know what else to do with it to avoid making it even worse.

Dar Adal's words keep playing on loop in her mind, all the way till his last, bizarre line. At the end of _what_? She wanted to ask. Because she never considered that there was an end in place, that what she has been doing now was temporary. Without spelling it out, she came to accept the fact that this was the final chapter of her life, that she would never be able to return to the USA. But Dar Adal's strange remark sparked a superfluous doubt.

After a few minutes of consideration, Carrie decides that driving to a high-end store to try on the dresses for the ball seems like the safest idea, and for an hour she blocks all other thoughts, trying to clear her mind.

She picks the dress she thinks Yevgeny would like best. Then she drives to a parking lot in another part of the city, where she moves to the back of the car to be closer to Leo, and proceeds to finally look through the contents of Yevgeny's phone on her computer.

The dial history is clear and there are no text messages other than two old ones from her, one telling him that Lev was born, and the other one from a couple of weeks ago, which she wrote when she was in a particularly good mood: _Be home soon. I miss you. I want to spend this entire night kissing you. Your loving wife xoxoxo_

Pushing her hair behind her ears with a grimace, Carrie looks at her son who looks back at her as if perplexed.

"Yeah, I also don't know what I'm doing," she says in a hollow voice.

She still cannot believe that the helicopter crash was not an accident, after all. She sacrificed so much to prove that it was, and to think that she was wrong all along felt disheartening and unsettling – terrifying, especially in the context of Yevgeny presumably being aware of that. Aware. Carrie clenches her jaw, grinds her teeth. Not just aware but actually taking part in that plot? How could it be? She remembers that there was a moment, a split-second when she wondered why the first thing he did upon ambushing her with the flight recorder was listening to the recording with her. But it made sense later on, and other than that she could not pinpoint anything…

With a sinking feeling she recalls disabling the surveillance blanket over the crash side, so he could get a lead on Max. Of course it wouldn't have happened if she didn't ask him for help in the first place. But in light of Dar Adal's revelations she could not help but wonder what else he could have done with those two minutes when monitoring was off?

Looking back at the screen, she browses through the pictures from Yevgeny's phone. There are only several of them: one of them together, two of her, one of her with the baby, one he once showed to her, of his parents, his brother and him as kids. There are no documents. No accessible external drives or e-mail accounts.

She is not sure what she expected to find in his phone anyway. Not to mention that it is most certainly not his only phone, so what are the chances that the one he just leaves unattended is the one with any valuable information.

Leo starts waving his hands at her and she takes it as a reprimand for considering what she found not valuable. What could be more valuable than this?

Only that... could she really tell how much of that was even real? She knew he loved her, but what if it did not influence any of his actions in the slightest? What if he kept her and his feelings for her in a compartment completely separate from everything that pertained to his country? After all, wasn't it how she was functioning right now too?

_Not really_ , she thinks bitterly. She has actually been trying to be mindful not to get him in trouble because of what she has been doing. She has also been trying to thread carefully and make sure she does not transmit to Saul too much or too detailed information at once.

Carrie hesitates for a second before she even allows this sobering question to formulate itself in her mind:is she _sure_ that if she found something truly damaging to Russia, she would still send it out?

Drawing a sharp intake of breath, she suddenly feels a pang of panic at the somber thought that perhaps she is being _too_ mindful and _too_ careful. Isn't it a serious red flag? Isn't it a sign there is some conflict brewing within her as to where her allegiances lie?

What if she is giving up more and more of her while he never really gave up any part of himself? It crosses her mind, that even with that GRU's strategic plan proposal he let her see and edit a bit, he did not fail to point out that it was a _draft_.

She feels a cold mist creeping over her, freezing her heart, bringing tears to her eyes.

What if somewhere along the way, unbeknownst to her, he artfully, clandestinely has actually become her Russian handler?

Closing the computer with shaking hands, Carrie checks the straps of the baby's car seat, gets back into the driver's seat and starts the engine.

At home, she spends several hours in her office, putting together all she remembers from the asylum. Most of her memories returned, at least that is how it felt to her up until today. She tries to recall everything she said, might have said, is not sure she said. Pacing around the room, she makes a mental chart of how everything unfolded to spot any possible blanks, discrepancies, portents.

In the evening, she tucks the baby to sleep, and scurries into the shower when she hears Yevgeny enter the apartment. She still does not know what to do with all those thoughts in her head and every minute of not having to deal with that feels precious to her.

But in her haste, she forgets to close the bathroom door and it must seem like an invitation, because she suddenly feels him embrace her from behind, his lips on her neck, his coarse hands mapping her body until he feels her body relax, unreservedly, under his touch.

When she closes her eyes, the caresses mingle with the water cascading over them. She feels overpowered and overwhelmed, transfixed by his closeness, his strength when he turns her around in his arms, pins her against the shower wall, lifts her leg, and grabbing onto her thigh, makes her feel whole, again, and again, holding her gaze for a few iridescent seconds before kissing her.

It suddenly feels irresistibly alluring to her, to just fling herself into the unknown, into this abyss over which she has no control.

Or maybe this is the only way in which she knows how to regain it?

Her master trick.

A complete self-surrender before launching a siege.

Holding tight onto him, she kisses him, drags open-mouthed kisses across his face, feels his heart beat frantically against her chest. Moving her lips close to his ear she says softly, in Russian, _'I'm yours'_ , and smiles ethereally against his neck when he crashes in her arms, whispering her name.

Later when they lie in bed, Carrie drapes her arm across Yevgeny's chest, and asks, almost conversationally, her words mingling with the faint sounds of jazz surrounding them.

"Why was Mirov's death ruled a car accident?"

His hand which moves slowly up and down her arm and back caressing her, stops for a moment before resuming its pace.

"Why do you ask, baby?" He asks, gently.

Encouraged by his tone of voice, she lifts her head to look at him. "Because I'm pretty sure I shot him dead."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After rewatching a scene from S7, in which certain people get mentioned, I thought it might be nice (and convenient!) to have them in this story :) But this is a note for the second part of this chapter. First let's pick up where we left off ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for all of your amazing comments, kudos & birthday wishes!!! :)

It was one of the things Carrie once read in some unorthodox handbook on the psychology of espionage: that in order to surprise someone, you had to first surprise yourself.

She does not really have a specific story to go along with her confession, but she is prepared to come up with something depending on Yevgeny's reaction.

For one thing, he does not seem taken aback by what she said, even though for a few moments he continues looking at her in silence, as she slowly props herself on her outstretched hand, half hovering over him, and waiting for him to speak.

“I know,” he finally says, catching her off guard with his own unexpected disclosure. “I was there," he adds, reaching out to caress her cheek with his knuckles in what feels to her like an absurdly yet fittingly soothing gesture.

"You were there?" She echoes in an astonished, barely audible voice. It was the one theory she did not entertain. Although now that she thinks about it, she quite probably should have started with this one.

“After you left, I put his body into his car, pushed the car over the nearby bridge and into the river.”

His impassive tone reminds her of when he was just an enemy officer, a menace, a threat to her country. Everything was so much simpler back then. She was not being constantly tormented by that amiss, frightening thought, if whatever she was doing was worth losing him.

He takes her hand in his, as if he wants to make a point that they are together in this and her attention is instantly drawn to the consolation the gesture brings more than to his cursory explanation of how it was possible to handle the accident in such a way that a gun shot wound did not immediately cause the situation to escalate into something impossible to contain.

“So that is why it was ruled a car accident," he concludes matter-of-factly, as if he is quoting a report. "Because it was just that.”

Listening to him with bated breath, all the while she is trying to guess what he knows, what he suspects? What did Mirov tell him? How much did Mirov know? And did he exaggerate or on the contrary, perhaps he told Yevgeny less than he actually knew?

"Thank you," Carrie utters the words so gingerly that they almost sound like a question.

A trace of a warm smile flickers across Yevgeny's face. "I'm open to various ways of expressing gratitude," he says with a wink and she can't help a humorless chuckle.

"I just… don't know what to say."

"How about why you didn't tell me about it right away?" He offers, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it, his eyes fixed on her.

Drawing a slow intake of breath, she is under the impression that he is curious as to what she might say, not necessarily counting on her to tell the truth. Or maybe it is just her own wishful thinking that makes it seem to her that way.

"You didn't tell me you were there either," she deflects, absently intertwining her fingers with his.

He gives her a lopsided smile. "My little minx. I asked you first," he says with a glimpse of amusement in his eyes, swiftly pulling them to a sitting position and locking her in his arms.

"I'm not a minx," she protests, ignoring the latter part of his comment to buy some time, trying to estimate on the spot how close to the truth she can and should get.

Burying his face in her neck, he insists good-humoredly that she is, and she wraps her arms around him, thinking that maybe the conversation will drop.But it does not.

When she closes her eyes, his lips searing a path across her neck, he asks, his voice mellow but resolute. "Why were you meeting that MEPhI professor in an abandoned factory?"

She hopes his relentless kisses are an excuse enough for a shudder that rips through her.

"What?" It must sound unconvincing and feeble but she does not think that under the circumstances she needs much more than that…Or maybe she does.

"Carrie." He tsks her as he draws back to look at her, his hand clasped on the back of her head.

All the possible answers race through her mind in a manic cauldron that feels daunting, but familiar, intoxicating.

"Did you arrange for him to be sent away to Japan?" She takes the leap. Then another one. "While I was in the hospital? Unnecessarily, for two extra months?"

He blinks, imperceptibly. She makes no effort to free herself from his embrace and she can see in his eyes that he takes notice of that.

"Why Moscow Engineering Physics Institute?" He asks evenly, with the faintest smile, and there is that glimmer in his eyes that makes her feel overawed and audacious at the same time.

Cradling his face in her hands she kisses him deeply on the mouth.

"Since when do you know?" She asks breathily, holding his gaze when he maneuvers them both in such a way, that she finds herself straddling him, her feet on either side of him.

"Since the jazz concert," he whispers, sifting her hair through his fingers, watching her face, mesmerized, as she slowly lowers herself onto him, her eyes fluttering shut. "Your purse. Sloppy." Their foreheads touch. "And error of judgment." Lifting one leg at a time, she crosses them around his waist. "Because your courier from the embassy sold you out," he taunts, breathing hard.

She opens her eyes with a shaky laugh. "I _was_ starting from scratch."

With a smile flitting across his face, he pushes her lips against his, and kisses her feverishly, holding her tight in his arms.

It feels like being swept into the sea in a raging storm, wave after wave rising high, and she feels like drowning, repeatedly, but not quite, each hard-won breath sending tremors through every crevice of her body and her mind. Then the sea splits open, shatters into dazzling lights and they cling to each other, kissing until all is calm.

When they fall onto the bed together, she snuggles fervently into his arms. It is like a picture assembling itself in her head, some puzzle pieces of truth falling out, leaving empty spaces she fills in with plausible replacements that her intuition tells her might work out.

"It's about illicit trade of pharmaceuticals," she says in a soft voice once she regains her breathing. "There is a hidden department at MEPhI that signs on some shady deals with companies selling fake drugs in South America. I have a contact in Germany. I'm not sending anything to the US. I just wanted to _do_ something… Writing, attending conferences, and discussing the budget for office supplies is not exactly my kind of thing."

Her cheek pressed to his chest, she feels as if she is floating in the air while waiting for his reply, the heady scent of him combined with electrifying uncertainty if he will believe her explanation. She does not think any of her messages got intercepted.It also does not seem that he knows about her communication channel with Saul. It is highly unlikely he would have just let it go on for three years, especially considering the actual nature of her messages.

He skims his fingers down her back. "I know," he says at last, and the words are vague but his tone reassures her that she may be right. "I don't want you to feel unhappy."

Carrie lifts her head to look at him. "I told you I'm happy." She pauses before continuing in a lower, tense voice. "I didn't know what Mirov thought I was doing but I didn't want to take my chances."

"He was hell-bound on having you questioned, and I'll never let you be put through something like that again," Yevgeny says grimly, placing his hand on her cheek with a brief half a smile that she returns. "It was getting out of hand, and actually… I was going to do what you did. But you were faster," he says, tapping her lightly on the nose. "He got it in his head you were after the cryptographic materials related to weapons of mass destruction," he says it so smoothly that it sounds almost inconsequential - and so suddenly that it nearly knocks the air out of her lungs.

"Ambitious," Carrie says in a matching tone, with a blasé smile, even though she feels as if a wall of ice just slammed into her.

" _Too_ ambitious. And a death sentence at that."

It does not sound like a threat, not even a warning, and she decides he really thinks it cannot be true.

She almost believes it is not true herself, now that she heard it said out loud.

"Well, then I guess I'll better stick to my counterfeit medicines investigation. If that's okay," she adds after a pause.

He studies her face for a few moments before narrowing his eyes at her. "Are you careful?"

"I'm always careful."

"You're never careful."

She smiles. "I will be."

He seems to hesitate for a second before asking. "Do you need help with anything?"

She feels so giddy that she managed to scrape through this confrontation unscathed that she almost risks a serious request of some sort.

"Not right now."

He gives her a small smile, which turns into a frown. "I'm sorry about the antidepressants, I didn't know," he says and it takes her a moment to realize that he must be referring to what Mirov said. "I should've never left you there."

"No, you shouldn't have," she consents, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I'm quite difficult to retrieve. Don't push your luck."

He kisses her, tightens his embrace around her.

There is a part of her that cannot let go of the comforting conviction that because she loves him, this automatically purifies all of her words and actions, makes it impossible for anything to be considered _really_ wrong.

" _And_ I'm not a minx." Shifting languidly in his arms, she reasserts to finalize the discussion.

"No," he murmurs into her hair. "You are a spy."

She is still smiling when she closes her eyes.

xxxhomelandxxx

Pushing her luck is what she does on the next day, when she walks up to Yevgeny who is perusing the newspapers while finishing his coffee.

“I was wondering about something...” Carrie trails off, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

Glancing at her over his shoulder, he takes one of her hands in his, and pulls her onto his lap, narrowing his eyes at her in a questioning smile.

"When I ran into Dar Adal... he mentioned Jalal Haqqani and everything just came back to me. I can't believe that five years later, he is still out there, blowing something up every few months or so, and no one is doing anything to stop him," she says with a frown. "You'd think at least G'ulom would've done something decisive at some point. He has Russia's support, right?" Out of the corner of her eye she can see that he did not even blink at that. "How hard could it be for him to track Haqqani down?" She looks away with a grimace as if she just spoke her mind without expecting a reply of any kind.

"Support is a two-way street. Not to mention that he's not that big on it since he doubled the size of his army.”

Carrie nods pensively, thinking that G'ulom is the kind of person who could lose patience when it came to exchanging favors. But would he really be foolish enough to do something as rash as to incite Russia to swing its support to Jalal Haqqani and the Taliban instead?

"Clearly, it doesn't matter, seeing that the Taliban is controlling more territory than it did five years ago," she says, brushing some strands of hair off Yevgeny's forehead. “He is no leader. You know that. So what's his secret? There's got to be something. And whoever is supporting him, must want something in return, and it can't be anything good," she concludes with a sigh. "What?" She asks with a flicker of a smile when she pretends to only now notice that he has been watching her with an affectionate expression on his face.

"You're not going to let go of that, Carrie, are you?"

She stops herself from saying that she never lets go of anything. Although she thinks he might know that already.

"I don't like… loose ends," she says with a shrug.

"Me either.”

They smile at each other.

She wonders if it is very good or very bad to be feeling that comfortable, sharing such a pleasant morning after she just told him she killed someone and he told her he covered it up.

"I'll be going to Kabul next week," he suddenly says after a moment of silence, taking her hand. "For a week, maybe more."

She swallows, and her heart skips a bit at the immediate thought that this trip must have something to do with what Dar Adal was talking about.

"Could I go with you?" She blurts out.

He tilts his head to the side, studying her with bright eyes. "What about Leo?" There is no trace of reproach in his tone, but it still dampens her spirits, because he does have a point. Even to such an inept mother as her it feels uncomfortable to imagine leaving an infant with a nanny they would only know for several days.

To her surprise, despite the fact that she offers no solution to the issue he raised, he does not terminate the subject, but adds, fondling her hand in his. "Let me… Let me think about that yet, okay?"

She nods, hopping off his lap and returning his smile, even though she thinks the chances are rather remote.

"I have to go." He says, standing up. He brings her hand to his lips and kisses each side of it. “Try not to start a war while I'm gone."

"What about ending one?"

He narrows his eyes at her. "While I'm gone? "No."

xxxhomelandxxx

In the afternoon, Yevgeny calls to ask if she would be in the mood for a road trip. One hour each way. He does not say where, and Carrie decides to wait for him to decide what to wear.

"Not what I meant when I said casual would be fine, but you do look very beautiful," he says when he gets back home to the sight of her bustling around the apartment barefooted and in a scanty robe sliding off her shoulder enough to reveal that she is not wearing anything underneath.

She presses a kiss to his lips on her way to the closet. "I need to know where we're going to decide what to wear."

Leaning against the doorway with a smile, he follows her with his gaze. "Headphones. In case you get tired of listening to quarrels."

She gives him a curious, amused look, before tossing the robe at him, and placing a short red dress in front of herself. "This one? Or this one?" She asks, quickly replacing the off-the-shoulder red dress with a blue backless one.

He is still smiling, but she notices a trace of melancholy in his eyes that tells her there is something on his mind. Without moving, she reaches out with her hand and he walks up to her.

"What is it?" She asks softly when he places her hand on his cheek and leans into her touch.

"Would you like to meet my parents?"

She blinks in surprise. He has rarely ever mentioned them, always in the past tense, and for some reason she was convinced they must have passed away and that he did not want to talk about it.

"Of course," she says with a small smile. "Do they know about me? And that they have a grandson?"

"About you, yes. And I told my mother about Lev this morning. I call her… a couple of times a year. But I haven't talked to my father since I last saw them both, and that'd be… about ten years ago."

"Ten years?Why?" She asks gently, tilting her head to the side.

"My father and I… rarely see eye to eye in regard to... most things."

"Ten years is a long time. Maybe he changed a bit. Or maybe you did," she adds after a pause thinking that, contrary to what she usually feels like, perhaps she is not the only one wrecked by internal conflicts all the time. "In any case," she says, resuming a more decisive tone of voice, and glancing at the closet with a sigh of mock-resignation. "A midi wrap dress it is."

xxxhomelandxxx

The house is inconspicuous and small, with a beautiful rose garden in front of it. The door opens as soon as they park and get out of the car. Taking Leo in her arms, Carrie follows Yevgeny toward the building, where his parents are already waiting. Neither of them looks intimidating or aloof and she is quite taken aback by the overtly cordial welcome she receives. Yevgeny's parents hug her (with noticeably more ease than they hug him) and his mother is all warm-hearted exclamations over how beautiful she is, how adorable the baby is, and how well she speaks Russian.

Each room is full of books and she notices her book on one of the shelves, tucked between Thoreau and Gogol. She briefly wonders if it is intentional or if it is just an aesthetic choice because they are about the same height.

"Just so you know, this was done in a rush. I hope it's edible," Yevgeny's mother Anastasia says, bringing onto the table a deliciously looking dish.

"Yes, after ten years of radio silence, some advance notice would be nice," his father Gennady points out offhandedly.

The window is ajar, white lace curtains are fluttering lightly in the wind, and Carrie is charmed by the unusual tranquility permeating the modest space of the house.

"Oh don't listen to him," Anastasia says, glancing at Yevgeny and giving Carrie a smile.

"I don't," Yevgeny deadpans and Carrie wonders if she should start elbowing him already.

"Everyone's well aware, no need to clarify," Gennady retorts, but despite the tone his eyes remain bright and he smiles when the baby starts cooing in its bassinet placed in such a way, so they could all see him. “My grandson also agrees with me.”

Carrie stifles a smile.

"Could you please stop? Both of you. I'm sure Carrie doesn't want to listen to that."

"No, it's fine. I'm trying to get the hang of the dynamic, I need more material to work with," Carrie chimes in to everyone's amusement.

Gennady shifts his gaze between Yevgeny and Carrie. “So what did you see in my hardheaded, cold-hearted, coercive, despotic, impudent son that you decided to marry him?" He asks wryly to his wife's feigned mortification.

“Five insults in one sentence. Impressive,” Yevgeny says flatly, pouring the tea into Carrie's cup.

“I like adjectives. And after five years of marriage I'm assuming she must've noticed anyhow,” Gennady says with a shrug.

Carrie bites back a smile. “He isn't like that,”she says, glancing at Yevgeny and pressing a quick peck to his cheek. “He is very affectionate, protective, doting, steadfast, and kind.”

Yevgeny's mother is clearly delighted as she listens to that, but his father just gives out a dry laugh. “So you love him. Let's leave it at that.”

xxxhomelandxxx

After the meal, Yevgeny's mother leads Carrie with the baby to the living room while Yevgeny and his father are forced to remain in their own company.

“I don't have too many pictures, but I do have to show you some,” Anastasia says, once they are seated on the couch with a couple of photo albums.

There are mostly pictures from many years ago, of Yevgeny and his brother as children, faded landscapes vibrant with history and hope. Carrie asks about a picture of Anastasia in a tulle tutu, and she tells her about the ballet, years of training, love and pain, how an injury ended her career as a ballet dancer.

"I thought I was going to die," she says in a voice that trembles just for second, but tellingly enough. "I couldn't imagine a different life. I didn't want a different life. Ballet was all I cared about."

Carrie finds it surprisingly easy to vividly imagine the moment. A girl in an immaculately white dress sitting on the imposing stage in blinding lights, unable to get up from where she fell on the floor. Moments earlier, the music played, she was free, and in her element. But in a heartbeat it was all gone.

"So how did you get through this?" Carrie asks in a low voice. "How did you survive?"

Straightening up, Anastasia gives her a small smile. "Well, one day I put my pointe shoes away, and decided to give myself some time to see if maybe, just maybe there is more to me than that."

xxxhomelandxxx

When Anastasia needs to answer a call from her publisher, Carrie decides to check how the conversation between Yevgeny and his father is going. With Lev sleeping in her arms, she walks across the hallway. Halfway there, a raised voice stops her. It looks like the door is open, so even without coming closer she can hear everything that is being said.

"Do you really think it is okay?" Gennady's derisive tone is resonating across the narrow space of the corridor. "What you did to her? What you are still doing every day? You took all of her choices away, cut her off from everything and everyone else. What do you think makes it okay? That you love her? Is that your excuse? That she loves you? It doesn't work that way."

Carrie cannot hear Yevgeny's answer. If there even is any. Maybe there is just a pause in his father's monologue. With a grimace, she takes a step forward, wondering if barging in would help or just the opposite. After all, they seem to be talking about her, so she thinks it might be justifiable for her to interfere.

However, before she makes up her mind, Gennady's voice rises again, but this time it is not as harsh, it sounds more like a sincere attempt to say something impactful, and she begins to see why Yevgeny would avoid coming here.

"Has it ever occurred to you, that if this person you considered an enemy, could become the most important person in your life, maybe what she believes in is not quite as wrong as you thought it was? Maybe this entire paradigm is just wrong? Maybe there are no sides, only angles?"

Leaning her back against the wall, Carrie thinks that it is a nice sentiment, but one no one in their position could work with. His father is a historian, so maybe it is easier to be objective when looking at a big picture that spans across the entire world and over all the years.

"Do you think that this love, do you think that this is some kind of an instantaneous absolution bestowed on you? It is not an absolution. It is, it may be a chance for it. But it is up to you what you do with it.”

She cannot hear anything beyond the silence. Then the door is pushed wide open and Yevgeny walks out of the room, and into the opposite direction to where she is standing, toward the main entrance, without seeing her.

There is a window visible from the hallway, through which she can see him step outside.

Taking a few steps forward, she peers into his father's study.

"This didn't go too well," she observes, hushing the baby who just woke up.

"It never does," Gennady replies with a sigh, looking up at her with a weak smile.

"What was this one all about?"

After a moment of hesitation, Gennady stands up from behind his desk and walks up to her. "When you were captured in Moscow after that undercover GRU captain was extracted by the CIA…" He trails off as if expecting her to ask how he knows about that, but she does not ask. "I heard that… he punched you in the face." He averts his eyes for a second before adding in a low, vehement voice. "I did not raise him that way."

Blinking a few times to regain her composure Carrie thinks with a wry, inward smile, that her problems extend far beyond incidents like that. Not to mention that it was hardly the worst thing Yevgeny has ever done, and she is rather certain his father does not need to be told that. But maybe it is just a symbol, something to talk about, conveniently much easier to discuss than convoluted political schemes.

"It wasn't exactly like that. He didn't hit _me_. He hit an enemy officer who has just disrupted a very elaborate and time-consuming operation. I know it may sound strange but… that's how it is in this field of work. He was under a lot of stress, in that moment."

"I'm sure he was," Gennady says with a mirthless chuckle. "You beat him good at his own game."

The unexpected remark makes Carrie smile a little, especially since, no matter how bizarre it may seem, it still is one of her best memories.

"I do think you can be proud," she says sincerely after a moment of silence. "He is really, _really_ good at what he does."

Gennady regards her with a pensive look in his eyes. "I've never doubted that."

"And…" Carrie squints into the distance, trying to find the right words to express what she means. "As someone who has met many people with lots of different intentions, beliefs, yearnings, and motivations, I can say that… he _is_ a good man."

With a ghost of a smile, Gennady nods once, but then quickly resumes his usual, mildly mocking attitude.

"I see he's brainwashed you. Can you brainwash him in turn?"

Carrie stifles a genuine smile. "I'm working on it," she says, before walking out.

xxxhomelandxxx

Placing the baby in Yevgeny's arms before taking a seat next to him on a low bench in the tall grass, Carrie looks up at the trees above them, illuminated by the setting sun.

"So your dad says he is very sorry and he begs for your forgiveness. I'm paraphrasing," she adds when Yevgeny gives her a small, amused smile. It does not reach his eyes, but he leans in to press a kiss to her temple.

"That's too bad. Because he is right," Yevgeny says tonelessly, looking down at the baby who grabs onto one of his fingers and inspects it with a serious look on his face.

"About what? We are messed up and this entire situation is messed up." Carrie makes a dramatic pause and then asks with a mockingly aghast expression on her face. "Please tell me you knew that already."

Chuckling humorlessly under his breath, Yevgeny looks at her when she hooks her arm through his, her other hand moving up and down his upper arm.

"I still keep you locked up," he says after a moment of silence, his tone bitter and sad. "Only in a bigger asylum."

They are looking into each other's eyes, and she wants to say that it is not true and that she does not feel that way but... maybe she does? At least from time to time. And maybe it even is true? In a way.

But there is also something else that is true as well, perhaps more true than anything else. A frightening, appalling thought that she has always been trying to ignore. But it is nonetheless there, stuck in her head, like a perpetually open wound.

Tilting up her head, she takes a shaky breath and he remains very still while waiting for her to speak. "I don't know how to appraise the combination of what both of us did either right or wrong," she says in a quiet, hollow voice and smiles through the tears that gather in her eyes. "But… And it's probably a _horrible_ thing to say, to _feel_. But-" she shakes her head and takes a frantic look around as if she is trying to encompass all the things she means to toss on that other side of the scale. "I wouldn't have changed a single thing that happened, if it meant that I wouldn't have met you," she says breathlessly, almost choking on the words.

When she closes her eyes she can feel him kissing her eyelids, kissing the tears off her face.

When they draw back because of the baby apparently deciding to enter the crying competition, they notice Gennady coming their way.

Quickly shifting his eyes between everyone he clears his throat, and says in low, casual tone. "If someone's crying because there was no dessert, we actually do have a pie."

xxxhomelandxxx

On the way home, they talk about their parents. Yevgeny tells her more of their story, the story of their Russia, of the losses they endured which somehow never diminished their determination to live the way they always lived, without trying to bend the world to feel more right, but rather always trying to do the right thing despite the world closing in on them more than once.

Carrie tells him about her father, recalls the memories kept locked away because they are too painful to think about knowing there would be no possibility to make new ones. After a few moments of silence, she tells him about her estranged mother. She thinks she has not much to say and even that is not going to be pleasant, but somehow what she suddenly remembers is not all bad, as if visiting his parents unearthed some good memories from her own childhood she tried to push away. Or maybe (and she does not say it out loud but she thinks he must know anyway that she is thinking about that), it is more difficult to judge her mother's choices while being thousands miles away from her own daughter.

"So… would you be okay with leaving Lev with them when we go to the ball?" Yevgeny asks at some point, his eyes fixed on the road.

"Of course," Carrie says with a faint smile, shaking herself out of her grim reverie, shifting her gaze from the dusky landscape outside of the car window to him.

Yevgeny glances at her a couple of times before asking. "What about leaving him with them for a couple of weeks when we go to Afghanistan?"

Carrie blinks, caught off guard by the question, but as soon as she realizes what he is saying her smile brightens so much that it makes him smile.

"Yes, I'd be very much okay with that."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the number of kudos after the last chapter (thank you!) I'm guessing that many people may be looking forward to the trip to Afghanistan?... (feel free to let me know if I interpreted that wrong, though haha) So I just wanted to give you a heads-up that we *will* be going there of course, but first we need to deal with what every story needs: a party gone awry! ;)
> 
> Speaking of the party, um, I obviously have no idea, so any similarity to real people is a coincidence lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos! They always make my day :)

Absentmindedly trying to twirl a strand of Yevgeny's hair around her finger, Carrie thinks that going to Afghanistan as a plus-one might not be the most convenient arrangement, but she is not going to complain, considering that a couple of days ago she thought it might not be possible for her to go at all. She wonders if she should ask Yevgeny how he managed to obtain a clearance for her, but it either does not matter or he will not tell her the truth.

Turning onto her side, Carrie glances at the clock and is somewhat perplexed it is 3am already. She did not have trouble sleeping in a long time, and a one-time occurrence is probably no reason to panic, but she still feels cold shivers run up her spine at the thought. With the President's birthday ball tomorrow and the trip to Kabul next week, it would still be the worst timing possible, if she had to deal even with a minor hypomanic episode right now.

Drawing a sharp intake of breath, Carrie glances at Yevgeny over her shoulder, and slips out of the bed as quietly as possible.

It must be a combination of excitement and stress, and forgetting to stay properly hydrated probably does not help either, she thinks, gulping down a full glass of water without turning on the lights in the kitchen.

Or maybe it is just completely random, because it can of course happen like that too. But since she has been taking lithium with steely resolve and has not had a manic episode in five years, she might have grown heedless.

After checking on the baby, Carrie comes back to the kitchen for a second glass of water. Taking it with her to the living room, she walks up to the tall windows to stare out at the city. It is one of her favorite views. It is different than the stately quietude of the Capitol Building or the picturesque splendour of Montauk. It is precarious and enigmatic, but it calms her all the same, possibly more, because it seems strangely in sync with what she usually feels like.

With a sigh, she tightens her grip on the glass in her hands. She was never particularly successful at predicting the episodes, probably because she rarely tried to. Maybe if she actually put her mind to it, not only could she see one coming, but also prevent it from happening.

Taking a deep breath, Carrie is trying to go through all the possible harbingers: insomnia... agitation… trembling hands...

Suddenly, the glass crashes to the floor and she frowns at what must be a self-fulfilling prophecy, because when she looks at her hands, so pale in the moonlight, they are not shaking.

"Carrie?"

Her eyes dart to Yevgeny, but she is not really surprised he woke up. He is such a light sleeper that sometimes she wonders if he really sleeps at all.

"I-"

"Shhh. Don't move," Yevgeny cuts her off when she is about to take a step toward him.

Only then she realizes that she is barefooted and the glass is all around her. Looking the floor, Carrie gasps when without a warning Yevgeny sweeps her into his arms and carries her away from the shards.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she smiles faintly, leaning her forehead against the side of his head. "I might yet get the appeal of being a damsel in distress."

"Promises, promises," he replies mock-dismissively with a small smile that she returns. "Are you okay?" He asks after a moment, gently, studying her face in the faint light coming from the windows.

"Yes. I was just… feeling a little weird. I couldn't sleep, and… I started thinking that… you know." She sighs. "I haven't skipped any doses," she adds before he has a chance to ask. "So it's probably not that, but… I don't know," she says with a shrug, and then asks in a lighter tone, squinting. "Are you going to put me back down on the floor?"

He narrows his eyes at her a smile, as he sits down on the couch with her, cradling her to him.

"It won't happen, don't worry," he says with a wink, kissing her on the cheek.

She finds the unyielding certainty in his voice almost amusing, but she does not want to fight the alluring, subconscious pull to believe him. "How do you know?" She asks, fidgeting a little before finding a comfortable position and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Because the most common trigger is stress, so someone who is having that much sex, must've developed immunity," he says it in a conspiratorial whisper, but also so matter-of-factly that for a moment she thinks he is being perfectly serious, but then she laughs under her breath.

"True. If you put it that way, it does make sense."

He leans his cheek against the top of her head.

"Then again, lies are definitely stress-inducing, and you're _such_ a liar.”

He smiles. "What do you mean?”

"I talked to your dad-"

"I'm sorry, are you now having daily phone calls with my parents?" He asks, clearly amused, tilting his head to the side to look at her.

"We are also texting a lot," she says, managing to keep a straight face. "But that's beside the point. What matters is that I talked to your dad yesterday, and guess what he said?"

"That he disinherited me, so don't count on his rare book collection?"

"No." Carrie shakes her head, stifling a chuckle. "He said that you hate jazz," she says challengingly.

When Yevgeny only smiles in response, she widens her eyes at him in mock-dismay.

"So it's true!"

"No, it's not true," he insists, but his overall reaction makes Carrie think that there might actually be some truth to his father's jocular claim.

Cupping one of her cheeks in his hand, Yevgeny leans down and captures her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

"It's okay if it's true," she says after a moment of silence, closing her eyes and burying her face in the crook of his neck.

After caressing her hand for a while, he intertwines his hand with hers and she does not know if it is this gesture or the rhythm of his breathing or just knowing him well enough to tell, but she feels he is thinking about something yet, something he may end up saying or not saying out loud.

Her hand clasped in his feels warm, and so does his voice, quiet and solemn when after a few moments he says the words which seem to be mirroring her own recent concerns:

"I couldn't hate something that you love."

xxxhomelandxxx

On the day of the ball, after dropping Leo off at Yevgeny's parents house, Carrie decides to stop by a quaint bookstore to leave a package for Professor Rabinow, probably the last one before going to Kabul.

"He must be a popular scholar, this Professor," the bookstore owner says conversationally, taking the bubble mailer from her.

Carrie freezes to the spot, her forehead wrinkling in a frown. "How so?" She asks in the most casual tone she can muster.

"Yesterday someone else brought a package for him too. I actually didn't have the time to mail it," he adds, glancing over his shoulder to the back of the shop. "So I'll mail both of these today."

Grasping at straws, Carrie laughs briefly and makes a face-palming gesture. "This was my friend. I wasn't sure I'd make it here this week, so I asked him to send the package for me. I forgot he told me he'd do that." She shakes her head with another smile. "It's another copy of the same book, so you know what, let's send this one out, and I'll take back the one from yesterday, since I added a personal note to mine. Sorry about the inconvenience."

She knows her explanation may sound a little rambling, but she has known this bookstore owner for three years now, and believes he has no reason to mistrust her on such a matter.

He seems momentarily confused and she is ready to add something to her story, but then he clarifies the reason for his bafflement.

"Yes, of course, but… it was a woman."

It takes Carrie only a split second to adjust to this twist, even though it sends her mind reeling.

"Yes, yes, that's what I meant. Did I say 'he'? Sorry, it's been a long week."

Two people enter the bookstore, and Carrie uses this opportunity to pressure the bookseller into snapping into action. She picks a book to buy and asks him about a new edition of another one. He answers her questions while trying to tend to other customers, who fortunately for Carrie seem to have a lot of questions, so in order to clear the queue, the bookseller gives her the package from yesterday without further inquiries.

With her heart pounding in her chest, Carrie opens the envelope in the car. The package turns out to contain a gardening book in a lush, green cover, with a message, distressingly, inserted in its spine as per her established style. The piece of paper is revealed to consist of a single alphanumeric combination comprised of four letters and five digits, which at first glance seem meaningless.

It crosses her mind that perhaps she was meant to intercept this package, and if so, the message could be actually meant for her, not for Saul.

Starting the car, she frowns, not sure if this would actually make this situation better or worse.

xxxhomelandxxx

"You look stunning, Carrie."

Turning around with a smile, she tilts her head to the side, sliding the second earring in. "How long have you been standing there?"

Yevgeny smiles, pushing himself away from the door frame and walking up to her. "Not long enough to have enough of the view," he says, tracing the contour of her face with his fingertips. "But time's running out, so I'll better start getting ready too."

"I'll wait downstairs," she says, cradling his face in her hands and kissing him ardently on the mouth. "Otherwise I'll have to start on all this all over again," she adds with a sigh, indicating the red ball gown she is wearing and the curls in her hair.

She laughs under her breath, when he whirls her back for another kiss before, reluctantly, letting her walk away.

In the living room, she notices a couple of letters on the counter, and after sorting them out, starts opening the envelopes addressed to her.

Inside the second one, she finds a couple of pages, apparently an excerpt from a report, and at first she holds her breath, thinking that it pertains to her captivity in the asylum, but as she skims through the horrific descriptions of a torture-based interrogation, she realizes it must be describing something entirely different. Confused, she cannot tell what it is all about until she reaches the last page and see Yevgeny's signature underneath the report, accompanied by a note handwritten in red ink: _Will you write a book about that too?_

"Carrie? The car's here, so if you are ready, we can go."

Carrie looks toward Yevgeny as he walks down the stairs wearing a black tuxedo and a black tie.

"What happened to the bow tie?" She asks with a faint smile, her nails digging into the piece of paper in her hands.

He groans humorously. "I don't like bow ties," he says, brushing his lips across her cheek, and straightening his cuffs. "You will have to take me as I am."

Dropping the pages on the counter, she turns around, slides her hands over his shoulders and wraps them around his neck. "Wasn't that in the vows?"

He tilts his head from side to side. "More or less,” he says and smiles against her mouth when she kisses him.

She thinks about the drone air strike in Pakistan, about Frannie, about inadvertently causing the special ops team to become a convenient target for Jalal Haqqani.

"What do you see when you look at me?" She asks somberly, barely above a whisper and he frowns a little at the tone of her voice.

"You," he replies simply, studying her face, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face when the expression on her face clearly indicates she is not satisfied with his answer. "Is this an incorrect answer?"

"I don't know," she mutters tonelessly. "Does it mean that you don't think or don't care about everything that I have done? Everything that is wrong with me?"

His frown deepens, and he places his palms on either side of her face. "There is nothing wrong with you, Carrie," he says gently. "You have made it through everything that the world has thrown your way. And there are many things wrong with the world, but you, you have always done your best.” He trails off, looking at her in such an intensely reverent way that tears gather in her eyes. “When I look at you, when I look at anything, really, all I see, is you."

Her face contorting in a tearful smile, she presses her lips to his and they kiss passionately for a long time.

"Can we be fashionably late?" She asks at last, resting her forehead against his. "Because I think you just ruined my make-up."

He smiles, gasping for breath along with her.

And when he goes to make a phone call to let the driver know about the delay, she tears the anonymous letter she received into pieces and throws the shreds away.

xxxhomelandxxx

“I have no idea what these are, but they are really good,” Carrie says chattily, noticing someone she has been watching for some time now taking a long time to decide between various types of pastries.

She is not really surprised that the President's birthday ball is apparently being used as a facade for some business shenanigans (in fact, she would be more surprised if it was not so), but with Yevgeny disappearing every once in a while, she thinks she may be justified in doing some research in the meantime, and a man wearing an embroidered perahan tunban, but looking a bit lost and rather inconspicuous otherwise, seems like a good object to focus on, especially in the context of seeing him earlier exchange smiles with the Minister of Defence.

“Really? Okay. In this case, thank you. I'll go with this recommendation,” the man says with a smile, picking the indicated dessert.

“First time in Russia?” Carrie asks, looking around the room, partly to see if anyone is paying attention to them, partly to check if Yevgeny is going back, but mostly pretending to just be a little distracted.

“No, I've been here a couple of times already, but always only for a day or two, so I never get to see or learn much,” the man replies with ease that does not feel false and she wonders if this is because he has nothing to hide or because he assumes her not to be a threat, considering that they are both guests at the event to which only a restricted group of individuals was invited.

“Frequent business trips. I see. Traveling alone can be tiring.”

“Well, to be honest I wish I was traveling alone. My brother and cousin are really getting on my nerves sometimes.”

Carrie pretends to be very much amused by this, but before she manages to confirm the country that the man appears to be from, he consults his watch and excuses himself explaining that his brother is looking for him.

Before she has the time to start pondering the possible reason behind the traveling pattern mentioned by her interlocutor, she turns around at the sound of Yevgeny's voice. He smiles at her, takes her hand in his and pulling her away from the crowd, leads her outside the interconnected reception rooms and up the grandiose staircase.

“Where are we going?” Carrie asks suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at him in a smile, half-expecting that they are just going to sneak out from the main event, but his response catches her off guard.

“I want to introduce you. If that's okay?” He asks with a smile, although it seems to be more of a rhetorical question, because by the time she stops blinking he is already knocking on a set of tall doors that look like an entrance to another dimension.

They have been at the ball for a couple of hours now and she figured that a welcoming speech and a glimpse here and there would be all that she would see of the President of Russia, and considering the number of guests, it was hardly surprising. Especially since Yevgeny did not mention the possibility of any private meeting. Apparently, he meant for it to be a surprise. Or perhaps a set-up of some sort, Carrie thinks, bracing herself for what can turn out to be a tricky conversation. Then again, she continues pondering the possibilities as they pass at least eight security guards on their way through two other hallways, maybe it is only going to be a quasi-courtesy meeting that will last three minutes at most.

What must be a final set of doors, is opened for them by a formidable individual, who, however greets Yevgeny by his first name and beams at her, so she figures they must know each other well.

Behind the doors, there is an elegant chamber and the President rises from behind a desk and takes a few strides toward them.

"I don't scorn parties. It is just that not everything can wait until later," he says, gesturing in the general direction of his desk. "And speaking of delays, I do feel we should have met earlier."

Yevgeny makes the introductions and the President shakes Carrie's hand, not attempting to explain the reason for this supposed delay, but in a question that follows, hinting at one of the possible reasons why it is finally happening now. It seems that he must have come to the conclusion that she has been in Russia long enough to deserve some trust.

"How long have you been living in Moscow now?"

Carrie and Yevgeny take a seat next to each other on a couch across from the President.

"About five years," Carrie replies, glancing at Yevgeny who smiles at her, his head propped on his elbow in a rather leisurely manner.

"And how is it?" President Volkov asks, draping his arm over the side of the couch. "Moscow, I mean. Do you like it?"

"Actually, I was just thinking about it the other day," she says truthfully. "There is something about it that reminds me of myself. So it's a…" She pretends to hesitate between yes and no.

The President chuckles soundlessly. "I also wanted to congratulate you on your book. I have read it, of course, when it was published, but I read it recently again, and I was reminded of its striking fearlessness. It takes a unique kind of courage to come to terms with iniquities that to some degree will always remain obscure and inconclusive.”

Carrie acknowledges his words with what she hopes is also an inconclusive nod, because she does not really know what to say. She finds it daunting and somewhat unexpected when she is confronted with just how chummy with the President Yevgeny seems to be, if his relaxed pose is any indication. She has never thought about it much, and only now feels inclined to ponder all the implications of the laconic phrase that he is reporting directly to Moscow.

“But I did want to ask about the title, if I may? Just out of curiosity.” The President tilts his head to the side, giving Carrie a thin smile that does not reach his eyes.

“Of course,” she says, squinting a little in anticipation of the question.

“Do you really believe we would all be better off without any secrets?”

“I would think that goes without saying,” she says cautiously, not sure if he is just making conversation or perhaps it is a probing question of some sort.

He seems genuinely surprised. “I see. Well. I just always thought this would make this entire game, life,” he clarifies, “rather boring. But it's interesting to know there are people who feel otherwise.”

Carrie smiles faintly, feeling her heart clenching painfully at the label of a 'game' being attached to all the atrocities she has witnessed and known about.

She glances at Yevgeny when he brings her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of her hand.

“The world needs idealists. I'm not deprecating that,” President Volkov says reassuringly. “But let us get straight to the point, because there actually is something specific that I wanted to ask you about. I know how knowledgeable you are about Afghanistan, and I know the peace there has been long in the making-”

"We were very close to it once,” Carrie cannot resists saying, but even though Yevgeny is still holding her hand in his, she does not feel him squeeze her hand or indicate in any other way that it was something wrong to say, so she hopes it may be considered an acceptable dig.

The President smiles again, and she realizes there is something ambiguous about his smile and that she cannot really guess the exact emotion behind it. "Yes. Well, there are different priorities and opportunities at different points in time,” he says, slowly picking the words and making it clear that he knows exactly what she is referring to, “which I'm sure you understand as well as I. But we are at a different moment in history now and this common goal, peace in Afghanistan, may currently be an attainable priority for everyone. Which is why,” he continues, glancing at Yevgeny, “when Yevgeny mentioned you accompanying him there, I thought how upsetting it might be for a former CIA's station chief to travel to Afghanistan as a tourist.”

“I've been called worse,” Carrie replies with a brief smile.

This time the smile on President Volkov's face almost reaches his eyes. “About that. Do you know what I think is one of the major differences between Russia and the USA? We don't abandon people who are willing to do whatever is necessary."

"I guess the problem is that there may be some differences between what different people consider necessary," Carrie retorts matter-of-factly.

The President holds her gaze, and there is something curiously both sympathetic and menacing in his tone when he says. "If I dispatch someone to do whatever is necessary, I'm prepared to accept as necessary whatever they deem to be necessary."

“Sounds like a reasonable approach,” Carrie allows carefully, beginning to wonder where this conversation might really be going, and also keeping to herself a comment that she was usually dispatching herself, and not being dispatched by anyone.

“But I digress. What I wanted to ask is, would you consider becoming a part of the official delegation as a Special International Relations Senior Adviser? If you don't like the sound of it, it's him who came up with this title,” President Volkov adds, gesturing to Yevgeny who chuckles under his breath

Momentarily bewildered by this offer, Carrie shifts her eyes between Yevgeny and the President. “This _is_ quite unexpected.”

“I know. But consider it is nothing binding long-term. It is just for the purpose of this trip. It may be beneficial for all the parties involved to be able to take counsel from someone who was forging a path toward this peace for many years. And I'm sure you'd also like to be a part of this breakthrough.”

Carrie wonders if it would be prudent to ask what kind of breakthrough he is thinking about, with President G'ulom not wishing to talk to anyone anymore, Jalal Haqqani wrecking havoc, Pakistan making unrealistic demands, and President Hayes oscillating on a monthly basis between withdrawing all the US troops and sending more troops to Afghanistan. But perhaps she can solve this riddle herself once she arrives there.

“According to your husband, there is no one better qualified to be a part of this delegation.”

“Well, he is a little biased,” Carrie says, glancing at Yevgeny who returns her smile.

“I imagine he is,” the President says agreeably, and then adds, and Carrie finds the compliment gratifying, but also intimidating and quite stunning coming from a superior. “But he is also always right.”

xxxhomelandxxx

Retouching her make-up in front of a large mirror in a luxurious vanity room, Carrie cannot help smiling to herself a little at the idea that she might be able to actually do something meaningful during her trip to Afghanistan. She does not really know what to expect, but there will be time to worry about that later.

Shaking her head at the sight of herself in the mirror, she thinks that next time she should probably leave ringlets to a professional hairdresser instead of doing them on her own. She clicks her powder box shut, slips it back into her purse, and looks up-

For a moment, the vanity room seems to be perfectly quiet, and Carrie cannot even hear the muffled sounds of music coming from the ballroom, as her breath catches in her throat, even though she is half-expecting the person she suddenly sees in the mirror behind her to turn out to be a hallucination.

But when Carrie turns around, Simone Martin is really standing in the back of the vanity room in a floor-length black dress, her emotionless voice breaking through the silence like a knife cutting through the ice. “My grandmother used to say...” She says the words in French first before repeating them in English. “Stolen happiness never lasts.”

Never dazed to the point of incapacity, Carrie stares back at Simone in bafflement, trying to make sense of her presence and think about a way out, other than the door to Simone's left. But before she might need to start worrying about that, a woman in a green ball gown walks into the vanity room and glances at Simone on her way toward the mirrors.

“The world is full of thieves,” Simone says in a hollow voice that together with her ghost-like appearance makes the woman who just walked in turn around to take another look. “Who steal other people's lives.”

Holding Carrie's gaze for another moment, Simone slowly walks out of the vanity room.

“Um, okay,” the woman in the green dress says with a shrug and laughs.

Carrie tries to look equally amused but as soon as the woman focuses on fixing her make-up, Carrie's smile turns into a frown and she draws a sharp intake of breath, trying to make sense of what just happened.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! By the end of this chapter we *finally* make it to the airport! Lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos! I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think :)

"I'm sorry about the ambush," Yevgeny says with a smile, pulling Carrie into his arms and onto the dance floor as soon as she returns into the ballroom. "But I knew you'd do just fine," he whispers into her ear before brushing a kiss over it.

She nods distractedly, glancing around the room, and probably looks somewhat shaken, because he asks her if everything is alright.

"Other than that I just ran into Simone in the vanity room? Yes, all's well," she says with a sigh, smoothing the lapels of his tuxedo, and locking her arms around his neck, her eyes searching his face for anything reminiscent of shock, but to no avail.

"Here?" Yevgeny asks with a frown, taking a quick look around.

"Well, I didn't just make a round trip across the ocean," Carrie snaps. "And do you mind telling me why you don't look surprised?"

He shifts his gaze back to her, and she tries to draw some comfort from the glimpse of humor in his eyes, but she is too vexed to not be angry.

"Can we talk about this at home?" He asks with a trace of a smile flitting across his lips, as if she got fixated on some minor nuisance.

To apparently further make his point, he adjusts his grip around her waist, interlacing his fingers with hers as he lifts their hands together to assume a proper dance position.

She gives him an incredulous look, but since it probably is not indeed a good idea to talk about such things while surrounded by so many people, she rests one of her hands on his shoulder, and holds his gaze as they continue to dance.

She vaguely recalls those random parties she went to from time to time on her own, back when she thought staying off the meds altogether was the best solution. This is so different and she does not feel lost or desperate anymore, but in a way it is worse, because instead of searching for mindless oblivion, she has to keep searching for what is much more difficult to find: the truth.

Taking a slow breath, Carrie wonders how deliberate each of Yevgeny's feather-light touches is and if he is trying to lull her into a false sense of security. Or maybe he is just sincerely trying to reassure her that everything _is_ alright. There always seem to be at least two possible interpretations of everything and she feels like instead of getting better at picking the correct one, she is getting worse.

For the rest of the evening and on their way home, she tries to reason with herself, but cannot shake off this strange, bitter and cold kind of anxiety that she has not experienced before.

When they walk into their apartment, she catches herself wishing to check on the baby, only to remember that Leo is at Yevgeny's parent's house. It is the first time he is so far away and she is surprised by how much she suddenly misses him. For a second, she can hardly imagine not seeing him for a couple of weeks and it is a new and strange feeling too, a feeling she is not prepared for, which also reminds her about a recurring mistake of taking certain things, certain people for granted.

"I know it's ridiculous, but I miss him," she explains, folding a blanket lying next to the bassinet.

"It's not ridiculous," Yevgeny says in a low, soothing voice, following her into the baby's room. She glances at him, feeling as if he is less surprised by her reaction to the baby's absence than she is. "But we will pick him up tomorrow, so don't worry. And then when we go to Kabul it will just be a couple of weeks away."

She thinks he could say that being so far away from her daughter, she should not have a problem leaving another child behind. But with all his infuriatingly mystifying and evasive ways, he has never actually said anything hurtful to her, and somehow this realization makes her feel even more sad.

She gives him a weak smile as she walks past him and heads for the bedroom.

It seems to be the change of her demeanor, a shift from anger to sadness that prompts him to start the conversation himself.

She is halfway through taking off her faux fur bolero when he pulls her into his arms, cups one side of her face with his hand. "Carrie-"

"Have you been seeing her?" She interrupts him in an impatient, faltering voice, her face contorting in a grimace. She wanted to be reasonable about it, wait to first hear his explanation, but the bizarrely intense, dull pain washing over her at the very thought makes every additional second of not knowing almost impossible to bear. She does not even know what to make of this.

He blinks, as if the idea did not even cross his mind. "I haven't been seeing anyone," he says slowly, the frown on his face deepening. "Last time I checked I was married." He risks a smile in an apparent attempt to lighten the mood.

But the attempt fails, and she can see that he seems slightly taken aback by the tears suddenly rolling down her cheeks, despite her efforts to blink them back.

"How long has she been back in Russia? Why is she back? _How_ is she back? Is she back with the GRU? Did you bring her back?" Carrie blurts out all the questions in a rather feverish manner and would probably continue doing so if it was not for Yevgeny hushing her.

"Carrie." He brushes the tears off her face with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. "She testified against Russia in front of a foreign Committee. I guarantee you she is not back with the GRU." He seems utterly serious but something occurs to her.

"Does she know that?" Carrie gives him a shrewdly questioning look.

There is a flash in his eyes that she learned to recognize as a sign of her striking the right chord, and so she knows he will now try to steer the conversation in another direction.

"What is this really about?" He asks, tilting his head to the side.

"What do you mean?" She draws a quick breath, trying to regain her composure.

"Why are you crying?" He asks gently with half a grimace, half a smile, and a hint of genuine confusion in his voice.

She shrugs her shoulders with a humorless snort. "I don't know." She shakes her head, still trying to understand herself why she is acting almost hysterical. "Maybe because everything else is so convoluted, illusory, deceptive, treacherous, but this," she splays her hand over his heart, " _this_ has always been the one true thing I could hold on to." It seems so clear now, once she put it into words. Clear and sad and excruciatingly painful. "Sometimes-" She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, hands clenching his shoulders when he rests his forehead against hers. "Sometimes I feel like this is what makes _me_ real."

He kisses the last word off her lips. "You don't need anyone or anything to be real, Carrie." For a few seconds he simply keeps his lips pressed to hers. "There was that moment in the asylum,” he finally says, in a low, hollow voice. “Do you remember? When you didn't want to do that recording and I- I told you that... you'd go mad without your medications.” He looks at her, holding her face in his hands and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of his red-rimmed eyes, the closest she has ever seen him to anything reminiscent of crying. “And when you said _'I said no'_ , there was that look in your eyes I'll never forget, it went through me like a scorching blast, this sadness, this overtired contempt, this bravery shining through all the pain you could possibly imagine, all the pain you've already lived through. You can't get any more _real_ if you are as brave as that."

She still cannot smile, so she just kisses him softly on the mouth, feeling the warmth spread through every fibre of her body at the electrifyingly familiar texture of his lips molding against hers.

Then suddenly, with the greatest effort, she breaks the kiss and asks in a quiet voice. "Can't you just tell me truth?"

"I love you," he whispers with his lips hovering over hers. "That's the truth."

"I love you too," she whispers back, looking straight into his eyes, because she likes seeing how they always brighten when she says that. "But that's not the truth I meant."

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his voice growing thoughtful, almost bland. "So what did you mean, Carrie? Recruiting assets through the network of your carefully selected part time jobs? Copying the data from my phone? Secret meetings in museums? What are these? Are these _the truth_ too?"

She blinks rapidly, caught off guard by the list and the mood whiplash, if it even is that, because he does not sound angry or resentful.

"Do you have someone following me?" She asks with a grimace and an involuntary note of irritation in her voice, which to her puzzlement makes him smile a little.

"You mean one person could keep up? Then maybe it's an idea worth considering."

She narrows her eyes at him, but then decides that perhaps going on the offensive is not a well-justified course of action.

"Why are you so... chipper about all this?" She asks, sincerely confused.

He tilts his head to the side. "What should I be like, then?"

She slides her hands over his shoulders, locks them around his neck, wondering if it is trust or only love that makes her feel so potently safe. "Upset?"

"If I wanted to get upset every time I think you are up to something, I'd have to be upset all the time."

Carrie stifles a mirthless laugh. "So what is this trip? An attempt to find me a state-approved task to focus on?"

She presses her lips to the corner of his mouth, and holds her breath, because it takes him strangely long to reply.

"Not exactly," he says at last, inclining his head enough to kiss her. "I thought… maybe we could give your idea a try."

Each word is quieter than the previous one, and she is too mesmerized by his voice to ask fast enough what he means. When she opens her mouth to speak, he silences her with a hungry kiss, slowly glides his hand up her back and then quickly down, in one movement unzipping the evening gown which slides to the floor. She steps out of it and falls into his arms, closing her eyes when he trails kisses across her collarbones, up her neck, until he reaches her mouth again.

"What do you mean?" She finally manages to ask, breathlessly, her hands sneaking under his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

Incredibly, she thinks she will never get used to that, to him, to his skin under her fingertips, this sensation which feels new every time, even though she knows every inch of his body by heart.

He takes his time caressing the length of her thigh, as her head sinks into the pillows and she closes her eyes, letting herself be surprised by each wayward movement of his hands, relishing in each kiss planted unexpectedly on her lips, her shoulder, her hip.

"You said we were halfway there already," he whispers a hint for this riddle into her ear, his full weight pressing onto her, restraining her movements, while his hands roam freely down her sides.

"Yevgeny, please."

She is not sure if she is asking for answers or for something else or for _everything_ , but he seems to understand her well enough.

When she cries out, he trails sloppy kisses across her face, buries his face in her neck, nuzzling it as she is writhing underneath him, each movement sending a tremor through her. It suddenly feels like she can only breathe when he kisses her and in her mind's eye she tries to reach out for all the dazzling lights whirling in her head. On an impulse, she opens her eyes at the exact moment when he opens his, and she gets caught up in his gaze as if it was a material thing, a winding, cosmic path darting through the pitch black night.

His lips are warm when he kisses her neck, her shuddering breaths in sync with his quickened heartbeat. "Our own private network," he breathes the words against her skin and she can barely make them out in the haze of the afterglow.

They ring in her ears, float in the air like bright stars, burning out the background noise, a distant warning in someone else's voice, something about telling her exactly what she would want to hear.

Breathing hard, Carrie looks up at the ceiling with wide eyes, before turning her head to the side, their faces so close she can feel Yevgeny's eyelashes brush against her skin when he opens his eyes.

"Are you serious right now?"

Her voice is barely audible, but still louder than the chorus reverberating in her head, trying to remind her the concept is virtually meaningless now since she is no longer an active CIA operative, so whatever he has in mind must just either be a figure of speech or something much more perilous than that.

"I don't know if either of us really knows better, but maybe together we could figure something out."

He is kissing her between the words, caressing her with his hands, his voice, the vague, alluring promise of something she once thought was quite possible. But now she does not know... Is he still, again one step ahead? Is she? Is he really offering her an exclusive alliance? Or is it another act of one of his plays? A ploy she will be able to dissect only too late?

"Okay," she whispers, running her fingers through his hair.

She wants to ask about her role during the upcoming trip, about the trip itself, about his vision of Afghanistan's future. Because she wants to believe him, because it is so exhausting to be on different sides.

But she kisses him instead, because for now she still feels like clinging to the benefit of the doubt.

xxxhomelandxxx

On the day of their departure, very early in the morning, they drive together to Yevgeny's parents to drop Lev off. Carrie finds herself procrastinating, haunted by her always sincere but eventually broken promises to Frannie. Walking around the room with Leo in her arms, she reminds herself that her mood is probably just a result of an underlying, subdued but exisiting state of panic she is in, still knowing so very little about what she is about to participate in and how much freedom she will be able to exercise in Afghanistan to do what she decides might be right.

“Carrie? Are you quite ready to go?”

She stops in her tracks and turns toward Yevgeny who is standing in the doorway.

“Yes.” She nods and then repeats the word a little louder after clearing her throat.

Yevgeny walks up to her and brushes a kiss against the baby's forehead.

“I'm sure we'll be getting daily e-mail or even video updates from my mother, so it should be fine,” he says and Carrie smiles a little.

She places Leo in the crib and leans down to kiss his tiny hands. The baby chortles and it makes her smile, and she is struck by a pleasant, transient thought that maybe life is actually less about repeating the same mistakes and more about learning how to do your best with seconds chances it sometimes throws your way.

xxxhomelandxxx

Carrie is supposed to spend the entire day packing, but once Yevgeny leaves for work, she takes a deep breath and with a determined frown, gets everything packed and their luggage ready within an hour, after which she hurriedly leaves the apartment to disentangle as many issues as she can before going to Afghanistan. She reaches out to all of her contacts to check who still answers her calls or behaves strange while talking to her. She drives past the bookstore, which, oddly, is closed, but perhaps the owner had something urgent to attend to, so she decides not to worry about that just yet. She verifies the status of her other communication channels, recodes the files in her phone, changes all the passwords and pay courtesy visits to all of her workplaces.

A meeting with Dar Adal is last on her agenda, and she is not looking forward to it, but decides to go through with the meeting, just in case he could shed some light on the cryptic note she intercepted. And also because she wants to go out on a limb and test the conclusion she arrived at, that he was the sender of that excerpt from an atrocities-filled report she received in the mail

"It's 21st century. Defamatory e-mails are more environment-friendly than hard copy letters,” she fumes. “Not to mention that I don't need motivational messages, if that's what it was supposed to be. I will do what I see fit and if I decide it is the right thing to do. Trying to drive a wedge between Yevgeny and I is not going to sway me into what you consider the right direction. I know whom I married."

"Do you?"

She does not like passive-aggressive insinuations like that. But at least he does not deny having sent that letter. "If you've got something to say, just say it.”

Dar Adal gives her a thin smile. "He broke you and then he put you back together. Or so you think, but it is in fact a new you, his version of you. Doesn't it remind you of someone?"

Carrie stiffens, feeling cold shivers run up her spine at the involuntarily immediate memory of Abu Nazir's cold, triumphant expression. _"Sometimes when you are breaking someone, an emotional transference takes place."_

Straightening up, she shoots Dar Adal an indignant look. "How dare you make this kind of a comparison? Yevgeny isn't a terrorist. And he didn't break me. You don't know anything about us."

Dar Adal gives her a dark, unpleasantly sarcastic look. "I am curious. How would you then classify what happened in Ukraine? In Lukasville? Poisoning people and smothering them with pillows? I guess I should brush up on my definitions. Or maybe you should."

"I didn't come here for a lecture," Carrie says sternly, trying not to dwell on his words. "Do you know what this is?" She produces a small piece of paper out of her purse, and shows him the alphanumeric phrase written in the middle of it, the message she found in the book someone, she still does not know who, left for her or wanted to send out as her.

Tilting his head to the side, Dar Adal looks at the combination of four letters and five digits for a while, but then shrugs his shoulders. “Looks like a designation of a military unit, but which exactly, I don't know.”

Carrie frowns. “Are you sure? I checked that. It doesn't follow any known naming convention.”

“Top secret units usually don't follow any _known_ conventions,” he retorts wryly. “Other than that 'zero' at the end is probably a bad sign.”

“How so?” Carrie asks, squinting.

“The last digit usually stands for the level of acceptable risks. If it's a zero it means there are no limits, no rules, anything goes, depending on the situation.”

“You would know, I guess,” Carrie mutters, putting the piece of paper back into her purse.

“Actually, no,” Dar Adal says, narrowing his eyes at her. “But your husband could easily pass for someone who invented that.”

xxxhomelandxxxx

Carrie is about to head back home to make sure she gets there before Yevgeny, but then she receives a text from him letting her know that he would be home two hours later than expected. It is nothing unusual, especially not in the context of their evening flight, but since she already is in the vicinity, and in a bad mood too, she decides to drive by the GRU building. She is not sure if she is after a remote possibility of spotting something suspicious and related to their trip to Afghanistan or quite on the contrary, just wishing to draw, perhaps absurdly so, some comfort from taking a look at the building inside of which he currently is. It may also be both, as it is often the case, and she sighs at her own thoughts while turning right into another street.

A red light stops her, and propping her head on her elbow, she takes an absent look around... only to see, Simone step out of a cab, and head inside the GRU building.

The light turns green, but preoccupied with following Simone with her eyes, Carrie only continues to drive when she at last hears a few cars honking at her.

Pushing her hair behind her ears with a teary grimace, she drives back home, and throws herself into the final travel preparations, checking the bags and organizing her purse.

She knows there is no reason to get so upset and it is not like she discovered a tryst or even had a proof of them actually meeting. Although of course it was highly improbable Simone would be allowed into the building without Yevgeny's knowledge and chances of her being there and not seeing him were equally low.

When Yevgeny finally gets home, she must look clearly flustered, because his smile turns into a frown right away.

“Carrie?”

“Don't even-” she gets away from him, agitated, when he tries to embrace her. “I was driving by the GRU and I saw her walking in there. She must've had a _really_ good reason to blow off that elite Witness Protection Program. It's pretty neat."

Yevgeny looks at her for a few moments with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Okay,” he finally says with a stifled groan, running his hand across his face. "She reached out,” he starts after a pause and Carrie gives out a mirthless laugh, beginning to pace around the room, while he continues talking without moving from his spot. “Offered to provide the details of the CIA's Witness Protection Program.”

Carrie stops dead in her tracks. “What?”

“Probably figured it was more prudent than waiting to be found. Like you said, it's a pretty neat program, so she didn't blow it off. She got here on a private plane and she'll be going back to the USA soon." Yevgeny pauses, studying the dismayed expression on Carrie's face for a few moments before adding in a low voice, his unblinking stare fixed on her. "And if you'd like to send word regarding it through your favorite bookstore, I'm afraid it's permanently closed."

She does not flinch, even as she feels the ground slipping from under her feet at lightning speed. His voice is not harsh, just steady, overpowering in its calm confidence. But she also notices a glimpse of uncertainty, indicating a surreptitious hunt for a missing piece. Her messages to Professor Rabinow were always relayed through several addresses. He might still not know the ultimate recipient or even if there was only one.

"I told you what I've been doing,” she says with a shrug. “What would my pharmaceutical fraud-related contacts supposed to do with an intel regarding some secret witness protection programs?"

There is a ghost of a smile flitting across his mouth at the haughty defiance in her tone. "Then why don't you tell me what exactly you were using that bookstore for?"

Carrie flings her purse over her shoulder. "You had it shut down before determining its significance? Not a well thought-out move," she shots him a glare before turning toward the door. “I'll wait in the car. Vitaly already took the suitcases.”

She is surprised when Yevgeny stops her by grabbing her purse off her arm.

“What are you doing?” She asks, confused, and then widens her eyes at him, when he takes her phone out of her purse before returning the bag to her.

“I'm sorry, but I'll have to hold on to that. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

Blinking rapidly, she does not even know how to put her indignation into words, and there is also something in his gaze that tells her there is no point in arguing over it and so with another glare, she turns around and storms out of the apartment in a daze.

In the elevator, she wraps her arms around herself, trying to calm down. When she gets into the car waiting for them to take them to the airport, she draws a breath, and tries to collect her thoughts. It is probably overdramatic to feel that way, just a shock-induced impression that shall pass, nonetheless she feels as if she lost or was about to lose everything she has built in the last several years. Her MEPhI contact was gone, her communication channel with Saul was burned, she did not even have her phone with her anymore. Time to be resourceful, Carrie thinks bitterly, wondering if this trip to Afghanistan will even be worth it.

She does not look at Yevgeny when he gets into the car and takes the seat next to her, letting Vitaly know via phone that they can go, since they are sitting in the back, and the driver can neither see nor hear them.

Clenching her jaw, Carrie shifts her gaze to the window when the driver starts the car. She can feel Yevgeny's eyes on her but she refuses to look back. When he takes her hand in his, she snatches it away.

"Do you want a separate room in Kabul?"

It sounds more like a scoffing remark than an actual question, and she gives him an annoyed look.

"Yes," she huffs angrily. "Preferably in another part of the building."

He pouts briefly and she narrows her eyes at him.

"I didn't do _anything_ wrong", she says, looking him straight in the eyes.

He tilts his head to the side, regarding her through hooded eyes. "Other than lying to me."

"You lie to me all the time!" She exclaims, widening her eyes at him.

"Actually, I don't," he protests calmly. "I'm not telling you everything, but I don't lie to you."

She shakes her head with a humorless snort. "Okay. Great. Well, same here. So now what?"

"Now we're flying to Afghanistan," he quips with a small smile.

"What for?" She asks in a deadpan voice. "Because it seems to be one of those things you elected not to talk about."

He continues looking at her smilingly, before reaching into his pocket and producing a phone out of it.

"Your phone," he says, offering it to her.

"That's not my phone."

"That's the one they are going to search before you board the plane.”

Carrie blinks, her forehead creasing in a frown. Holding Yevgeny's gaze, she reluctantly takes the phone from him.

"You can't know any details before we take off. I'll tell you once we are forty thousand feet up in the air, okay?"

She nods, and does not stop him when after a moment of hesitation he drapes his arm around her in a decisive gesture and gathers her into his arms.

"You've got to trust me a little," he says, pressing his cheek to hers.

"I do trust you," she says in a low voice, snuggling against him. "A little."

He chuckles under his breath. "So you take back what you said about separate rooms?"

She rolls her eyes. "Do you have any other problems in life?"

"No, not right now," he replies with a lopsided smile.

They continue their ride to the airport in comfortable silence and somehow Carrie finds herself hoping it might all work out for the best yet.

Before boarding the plane, she meets the rest of the delegation, just three other people, the Minister of Defence, and two men she does not know and whose names and titles do not tell her anything specific. There is a roster they all sign after their IDs and phones are checked, and when she looks at the top of the page after signing it, she freezes at the sight of a familiar combination of letters and digits. Her mind reeling, she starts wondering if what she just signed makes her a part of some secret military intelligence unit, if it really is that? Or does her signature mean she agreed to something? Agrees with something? Or perhaps it is just a list of people boarding the plane?

After putting the pen down, Carrie follows Yevgeny up the stairs leading from the ground to the entrance of the plane.

There are mostly single seats in the cabin, but he indicates a double seat row and she is somewhat relieved that she will not have to talk to anyone during the flight. She slumps into the window seat with a small sigh, her heart hammering in her chest.

Lost in thought, she looks at Yevgeny only when she feels him brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers. He gives her a black folder with that all too familiar by now alphanumeric code in one of its upper corners. Slowly, she opens it, and by the time she is finished reading through the pages inside, she feels like she might black out.

With other people on board, she cannot say anything out loud, so her gaze darts to Yevgeny in silent despair, but to her astonishment, he just winks at her.

And so for the rest of the flight she is left wondering if it was a sign that everything is going according to the most optimistic of plans... or if she just signed a pact with the devil.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face! (More than one! ;) Um, that's more of a spoiler than a summary... Let's see... This is a work of fiction! In other words, what I want to say is that while I *am* reading the current world news (which may or may not be true anyway), I don't mean to imply that whatever I may choose to be true for the purpose of this story, I believe to be true in real life. Just so you know ;) Last but not least, if you are worried this story's getting long, don't worry. I've never written anything that ended up having more than 88 chapters ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for your amazing comments and kudos! ❤ They always make my day. I truly appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think :)

It feels like a memory itself, the scent of the wind in Kabul which combs through Carrie's hair as she is walking out of the plane and down the stairs. It feels almost the same, and yet very different than all the other times she was here. Maybe it is because of insignificant details, such as the metallic sound of her shoes clinking against the ground, as it is the first time she is crossing the airport wearing high heels. Or maybe it is because of the intimate atmosphere created by Yevgeny's presence, his hands always hovering near enough to shield her from a low ceiling, indicate which way to go, help her down the steps or into the car.

Or perhaps the reason for this visit to Afghanistan feeling different is that never before did she come here so overwrought, with such a heavy heart.

Taking in the familiar landscape, she thinks that she will not be able to prevent everything she disagrees with from happening, and that she might have to limit herself to minimizing the collateral damage while trying to steer the overall outcome in a different direction. Which seems ambitious enough. With all his vices and totalitarian tendencies, G'ulom could perhaps be persuaded to reassess the benefits of a peace deal. Jalal Haqqani, on the other hand, could never be trusted, she is certain of that. Unfortunately, it seems that this is not a preferred understanding of the situation.

The car ride through the city feels like traveling through the dark sky. It is already past midnight when they arrive at the hotel. There is only one person in the lobby and the place seems desolate, as they proceed to their room, their steps virtually noiseless against the thick, red carpets in the hallways.

Yevgeny opens the door and follows Carrie into the room, turning on the lights which illuminate the spacious living area and the adjacent bedroom with a terrace overlooking the city.

For the entire flight, Carrie could not wait to be able to finally talk about what was in the classified documents she read on the plane. But even though the flight's duration was less than five hours, after everything that happened today, she feels very tired and is suddenly not sure she wants to talk about such grevious issues tonight.

Without taking her tweed coat off, she slowly lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, looking around the room with unseeing eyes.

After drawing the curtains to the side, Yevgeny crouches down in from of her, gently stroking her knees to make her look at him. “Would you like something to drink?”

Carrie shakes her head, thinking that it would probably be easier to form a clearer picture of the situation if he was not here, so near, always making it so hard for her to question his intentions when he is looking at her in such a way, with that underlying reverence in his gaze, which at the beginning puzzled her, but now feels like a calming, inherent part of her existence.

“Is all of it set in stone?” She asks quietly, biting her lip in a worried grimace.

He tilts his head to the side and then pulls himself upwards to sit on the bed next to her. “No. But-”

She abruptly turns toward him, encouraged by his words. “You can't possibly think this is not wrong," she says without rising her voice, even though her heart is thundering in her chest.

Yevgeny takes her hands in his. “Carrie-”

“I know there are a lot of factors to consider,” she interrupts him in a feverish voice, in an instant forgetting all about feeling tired. “But there must be, there _is_ a better solution.”

He smiles briefly, like he always does when she tries to vehemently argue a point he thinks is hopeless.

“I know you may not like how it is to be done, but it _is_ a peace deal. And a complete withdrawal of the US is a prerequisite to Jalal Haqqani keeping his part of the bargain, control violence and adhere to the new governance framework that will be written by us, by you. He may not be a leader but this actually makes him easier to control than G'ulom who doesn't even want to talk to anyone anymore.”

“A complete withdrawal of the US is a recipe for disaster!"

She says it so immediately, and with such natural, breathless, unwavering certainty that she does not notice a barely discernible flinch in his face, and only realizes the effect of her words when he responds with a hint of scorn in his still overly calm tone.

"I'd rather say that most disasters begin with a US invasion."

She falls silent, inhaling and exhaling a little unevenly through slightly parted lips.

He is still holding her hands in his when he says, as if the thought occurred to him only now. "You didn't actually mean any of that, did you, Carrie? What you wrote in your book. You've never thought any of that was really wrong."

Frowning, she slowly shakes her head in a simultaneous denial and confirmation. "No, I do think it was wrong, most of it anyway," she says under her breath, her voice growing toneless and sad. "But… not everything that is wrong is done for wrong reasons." He is looking at her, listening to her in silence, and she feels enticed to continue, trying to find the most sincere, precise words to describe her thoughts. "Usually, there is an incredibly complicated chain of events setting a single domino piece in motion, and… and I just... I understand those connections and deep down I may even have them all justified. Or at least justified enough to still-" She chokes on the tears which suddenly gather in her eyes and overwhelm her voice. She does not think she has ever said it out loud, but somehow the words tumble out of her now like the most precious but wistful, obsolete confession. "Still love my country." She shrugs, pursing her lips in a brief grimace, but starts crying only when to her relief he pulls her into his arms.

"I know," he whispers in a soothing voice. "I know,” he repeats, trailing soft kisses across her cheek and she sighs with a faint smile. “For some time I thought that maybe you really started seeing some things differently, but… perhaps I just wanted to believe that, because I wanted you to believe what I believe."

"I get that," she says under her breath, running her fingers through his hair, trying not to get lost in the sense of solace, but finding it difficult to suspect she may have anything to fear because of her honesty, mirroring his, she is sure of that, even if he never said anything like that out loud. "I'd like that too," she adds with a broken laugh and smiles through her tears when in response he tightens his embrace around her and she can feel him smile against her skin. "But... don't you think that in a way we do? See everything kind of differently by now?"

He presses a lingering kiss to her neck, but does not say anything.

Cradling his face in her hands, Carrie draws back enough to look at him

"Yevgeny, if the US troops leave, Afghanistan will revert into a war zone,” she whispers earnestly. “With Jalal in charge, it will become a safe harbor for terrorists and this will put the entire region at risk. And as for the withdrawal itself,” she continues fervently, hoping that she can at least convince him to reconsider what shocked her most in the documents she read. “A series of executions will not lead to a withdrawal. It will only lead to an escalation. You can't possibly consider authorizing something like that. Paying the Taliban for targeting individual soldiers? This is not combat. This is murder."

She remembers a man from the ball, the one who seemed out of place, with his strange schedule of frequent and short trips to Russia. Now she is certain the purpose of them was to collect cash payments to be distributed to the Taliban fighters in Afghanistan and Pakistan. She came across some rumors before, but did not think any actual arrangement was already in motion.

“It has been authorized already, and not by me.” Leaning forward, Yevgeny pushes loose strands of hair off her face and there is something hypnotic about his gaze that makes her want to believe in whatever he is saying, despite her better judgment. "This _is_ war, Carrie. And it's about to spill over the borders. The only way to contain it is to have all the foreign troops leave, and the only way for them to leave is to make them realize they'll face annihilation if they don't leave."

She thinks he sounds too calm, as if the matter is no longer eligible to be discussed. His tone makes her think about General McClendon, Dante Allen, Ivan Krupin… For a split second she is able to see Yevgeny through Saul's eyes, through everyone's eyes, but the image slips through her fingers like water, fades away like a phantasmagoria, and she is once again left only with the warmth emanating from his eyes when he looks at her and the fiery tenderness of his touch.

"But they do want to leave," she says earnestly, looking into his eyes almost unblinkingly, anchoring her hands on his shoulders. "They've been trying to leave for years now. We were so close to that five years ago."

She trails off, thinking back to that time when she felt too sure it would all work out, too sure he was attracted to her enough to be charitably running errands for the sake of her country. It was always a mistake to be too sure of anything. And yet, she cannot help feeling strong and safe and hopeful right now because of being so breathtakingly sure that he loves her.

"What makes you think Jalal Haqqani will honor any agreement? No matter the leverage, I don't think he will. I have a better idea," Carrie adds with a trace of a zealous smile flitting through her face, rising to her feet.

Reluctantly releasing her from his arms, Yevgeny follows her with his gaze when she quickly goes to retrieve the black folder from the side pocket of her suitcase. It is the first time they are talking about everything so openly and it feels so intoxicating that her hands are shaking a little when she drops the documents onto the bed between them, and starts searching through the pages. After a moment, Yevgeny suddenly stands up, and Carrie's eyes dart to him questioningly, but then she realizes his intention is to merely help her out of her coat. After putting both of their coats away, he sits back down next to her and continues watching her while she is trying to find a specific page.

"You're staring," she points out with the faintest smile, without glancing up at him.

"If you won't find whatever you're looking for fast enough, I'm going to do much more than that," he quips, watching her with glimmering eyes.

Seemingly ignoring the remark, Carrie pulls a couple of pages out of the folder, spreads them on the bed and highlights all the weak points, before drawing several diagrams and timelines on empty sheets, explaining her reasoning as to why she believes her plan can bring better results.

She feels his eyes on her, and realizes it is the first time he is watching her visualize her thoughts. It is not even an extreme example, but she can already tell he likes seeing her like that and it makes her revel in doing it even more than she usually does.

"If Jalal Haqqani could be replaced with someone willing to negotiate with G'ulom, a joint government could actually happen, and if it agreed to adopt the recommendations from the allied forces, the foreign troops could be pulled out very quickly."

Regarding her sketches with his eyes narrowed, Yevgeny still sounds skeptical but she tries to cling to the genuine interest in his gaze, hoping that she could at least prevent the planned killings of soldiers from happening and then go from there.

"You are forgetting G'ulom doesn't want to negotiate anything with anyone anymore," Yevgeny says, looking up at her, his eyes roaming all over her face, as if he finds it utterly fascinating and the intensity of his gaze sends shivers up her spine. "And killing Haqqani will not conjure up a fitting replacement."

"You want me to believe you don't have his inner circle infiltrated?" She asks with a brief smile, squinting. She wants to reach out for him, wrap her arms around him, kiss him. Sometimes she cannot tell the difference between being drawn to him and to his thoughts, to the possibility to decipher what he is thinking.

He gives her a faint, lopsided smile. "It's work in progress."

After holding his gaze for a few more seconds, she slides off the bed to put all the papers on a nearby table.

Slightly turning to the side, his hand propped on the bed in a leisurely manner, Yevgeny's eyes follow her, but he only realizes what she is about to do when on her way back toward the bed, Carrie tosses her shoes away and without a word flings herself into his arms.

They collapse onto the bed together, kissing feverishly. He smiles against her lips, letting her climb on top of him before rolling them over and pinning her hands on either side of her face. Leaning down, he drags his mouth along her jaw line and she feels her heart beating at a more frantic rate with each heated kiss.

"I was thinking of you that night in Kohat," he whispers into her ear while helping her ease out of her dress. "Didn't sleep all night waiting for you to… bang on that wall," he murmurs the words against her skin.

She chuckles breathlessly. "I was wondering if you used that word on purpose. I was thinking about you too, imagining what it would feel like..." Running her fingers across his face when he looks at her, she pulls him down for a kiss.

To her surprise he says. "No, you weren't”. And what surprises her more is that he sounds mildly amused, as if it would simply be nonsensical to expect her words to be true.

"I was," she insists, holding his face in her hands. "I just…" Her frown deepens and his expression changes too. "I didn't want to ruin it. I thought..." she continues prompted by his questioning look. "As long as it doesn't happen, it can't be ruined." She draws a breath, lowers her voice. "If it doesn't start, it can't end." Tracing the contour if his face with her fingertips, she adds, barely above a whisper. "If I don't fall in love with you, you can't destroy me."

He looks at her in silence, does not ask if this is what she feels like or felt like or fears she is going to feel like one day. He does not ridicule the sentiment. After a few moments he just captures her lips in his, kisses her slowly, and she feels a wave of warmth wash over her. Sliding his hands underneath her and pressing her to him, he whispers into her ear.

"Don't ever forget, Carrie. You are indestructible."

She laughs soundlessly, but the words stay with her, echo in her head when she tries to catch her breath between impatient kisses.

"Let me try talking to G'ulom," she whispers on an impulse, panting. "Maybe I can find out why he broke the negotiations off. Until then, could you put the rest of the plan on hold?"

It may be a preposterous request, but she feels like something has changed, that they are being more honest, more open with each other.

Or maybe it is precisely how she is meant to feel, even though it is not true at all. She suddenly thinks there must be a specific reason for her to be here, although she cannot guess off the top of her head what it could be.

"Why don't we try talking to G'ulom first, and then we'll see," Yevgeny says, apparently slightly amused by her timing.

"It means no," Carrie translates his evasive answer into a cold truth, which feels even colder when paired with his warm hands travelling across her bare skin.

"It means that you have to consider which side you're on, baby." His hand tangled in her hair, he kisses her before she can answer and the words scatter from her mind in all directions like glittering shards of broken stars. "And that in the grand scheme of things, war casualties are just a means to an end."

He whispers the words in her ear in a velvet-like voice, and somehow they do not sound as repulsive as her brain is telling her that they ought to sound. She feels too weak to protest, too overwhelmed to argue otherwise. The tension morphs into pain, but then explodes into pleasure so bright she feels tears roll sideways from her eyes.

She is still trembling in his arms when he brushes his lips over hers, strikes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "This part of the plan will have to remain unchanged." His voice sounds gentle but firm, controlled, and to her astonishment it steadies her, rescues her from the tempest, but then it carries her to a stony shore. "Okay?"

There is something obliquely cruel about this question, about prodding her to answer it. But perhaps this is the price to be paid for a chance to finish her mission from years ago.

She blindly reaches out for him and he kisses her, deeply, soothingly.

Out of the blue, it crosses her mind that he is here and all the people she has ever known aren't. And why should she care about some strangers who do not even know she exists? Or if they knew, they would regard her with contempt?

Despite such thoughts, it still feels like a defeat, a ruination, a disgrace, and she is falling into a dark, empty space, but then he kisses her again and again.

She draws a shuddering breath. "Okay."

xxxhomelandxxx

Carrie feels more in charge of her thoughts in broad daylight, nonetheless the sense of capitulation lingers. Or is it a sense of triumph? It is utterly frustrating that sometimes she cannot make sense of the simplest things. Or decide between the extremes. Does he want her to give in, to actually defect because he loves her? Or does he love her because he is hoping for her to defect? She is also not sure what to make of his high tolerance for her secret shenanigans, the effortlessness with which he covered up for her in regards to Mirov, and most importantly of him arranging for her to come here to Kabul as a part of a special Russian delegation.

Standing in front of a tall mirror in her lingerie, Carrie finishes applying eye shadow to her lids. Deep in thought, she only realizes Yevgeny has already walked out of the shower when he wraps his arms around her from behind, and presses a kiss to her shoulder before walking away toward the closet.

She looks after him thoughtfully for a couple of seconds before returning to finishing her make-up.

When they are ready to leave the room, she slides her hand into his and smiles faintly against his lips when he kisses her in the elevator.

The rest of the delegation does not accompany them to President G'ulom's office, and she wonders what they will be up to in the meantime. She is under the impression Yevgeny does not think her attempt to talk to the General is going to succeed. Perhaps that is why the remaining part of the delegation is probably just going to proceed with other scheduled appointments, not expecting their doubtful meeting with the Afghan President to make any difference. Somehow, despite her own doubts regarding it, this motivates her even more to make it happen.

She is still upset about yesterday, about Yevgeny's refusal to call off the targeted attacks, making her pretty much agree to them, although she cannot help hoping that he might have them at least postponed anyway without telling her.

But regardless of that, her anger seems to somehow evaporate, when after they enter the presidential palace, they are greeted, oddly, by snickering guards, and it actually takes them both a ridiculously long moment to realize that it is because they saunter inside, holding hands.

"We're losing our edge," Carrie says in a conspiratorial whisper when they are climbing up the stairs.

Yevgeny gives her a faint, mischievous smile, glancing right and left to make sure there is no one nearby, before pulling her into his arms and pressing his lips against hers in a brief, ardent kiss.

"Don't be disappointed if it doesn't work out. He's been like that for a year now," Yevgeny says right before they start heading across the long hallway leading to G'ulom's office.

Carrie wants to reply, but then she is rendered speechless by the sight.

Near the G'ulom's office door, three people are standing and talking with the President's secretary, who apparently repeats once again with growing impatience that the President refuses to see anyone. She also does not look pleased when more visitors appear.

But Carrie misses her words, her attention focused exclusively on someone she did not expect to run into, not here, at least, possibly not anywhere ever again.

But before Saul, who looks equally stunned, manages to say anything, Mike Dunne snorts mockingly, shooting Jenna who is standing next to him an exasperated look.

"What now?"

"Like I said-" the President's secretary cuts in, intending to reiterate what she has already said, but then trails off when, apparently annoyed by the seemingly ceaseless noise, Abdul G'ulom appears in the doorway.

"How is it possible that people are still entering this building despite my explicit orders-"

He takes a few steps forward but stops in his tracks when he notices Carrie and Yevgeny.

Finally averting her gaze from Saul, Carrie gives G'ulom a faint smile while Yevgeny slides his hands into the pockets of his coat, his face acquiring the seemingly unreadable expression Carrie knows only too well.

"Carrie Mathison," G'ulom says in an almost solemn voice, narrowing his eyes at her. "Like a phoenix from the ashes," he adds with a barely perceptible smile in his tone and in his eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carrie can see Mike Dunne roll his eyes, which also does not seem to escape Yevgeny's attention.

Greeting him by his title, Carrie's forehead wrinkles in half a grimace, half a smile. "It's been a while."

"Yes, well." G'ulom shifts his eyes between all the people present. "I know what everyone has to say and I've had enough. But perhaps you have something to say that I haven't heard yet."

With a twinge of hopeful satisfaction, Carrie glances at Yevgeny, who gives her a small nod and a smile, although she can tell he seems rather surprised by such a turn of events.

"So he is dismissing us to talk to traitors,” Mike mutters in a low, annoyed tone. “Great-"

Carrie cannot take another look before the President's office door closes behind her, but she guesses that the last letter may have come across as cut off because of Mike falling silent under Yevgeny's glare.

"I have to say, I didn't expect to ever see you here again," G'ulom says, gesturing for Carrie to sit down and taking a place across from her. "How have you been?"

The simplicity of the question catches her off guard and she smiles a little.

"Quite well, actually."

"I can see that. You seem… happy."

Carrie blinks, not surprised by the fact itself, but baffled by it being apparently so obvious to someone not even close to her.

G'ulom stifles a dry laugh. "Did I unearth a secret? I actually was not surprised when I heard of... all that happened with you. Your husband always reminded me of you and you of him. Except..." He leaves the sentence unfinished, but before she has a chance to ask him what he means, he changes the subject. "So what brings you here?"

"I was hoping you would reconsider breaking off the peace deal negotiations," Carrie says with an uncertain grimace, deciding that being straightforward might perhaps work best, considering a strange glimmer of indifference in G'ulom's eyes, as if he barely cared.

"I'm tired of being in the middle of power struggles that have nothing to do with this country and its people. They deserve better. You would be pleased with the current state of the country's finances," he adds as an afterthought and Carrie smiles briefly at the apparently good-humored allusion to her past intimidation tactics.

"That's good to hear. But… economic growth and stability are hard to maintain amidst violence."

"Or with foreign armies occupying this exhausted soil,” he retorts.

"Well,” Carrie straightens up and shrugs a little. “I think Jalal Haqqani is a bigger problem than NATO troops, especially since the latter would be much more inclined to leave if the former was out of the equation."

Tilting his head to the side, G'ulom narrows his eyes at her, giving her a slightly curious, almost sad look. "I don't know if you are aware, but it sounds like you are just speaking for yourself.”

The words feel as if ice water was poured over her head, but Carrie tries to quickly regain her composure. The President is studying her in silence for a few seconds and she is not sure if it is her effort to appear collected or just the opposite, the obviously chilling effect of his conclusion, but when she opens her mouth to speak, he interrupts her in a low, pensive voice.

"I'll tell you something I didn't even tell my wife... yet." He pauses long enough to draw a breath. "I'm… ill," he says the word in a mildly mocking tone. "I have about three months left to live."

Carrie blinks rapidly, flabbergasted by his words. "I'm so... sorry-"

He waves his hand at her in a slightly impatient, dismissive gesture. "I didn't say that to elicit compassion or solicit premature condolences, for that matter. I just wanted to explain why I'm choosing to spend these final months trying to salvage and rebuild what may benefit my country, my people. Fighting a war or fighting to end it too often feels like the same thing, and I don't want to waste these last months working toward another doomed peace deal."

"I understand," Carrie says earnestly, leaning forward in her seat. "But…" She inhales sharply, trying to sift through all the thoughts in her head at the same time. " But isn't this all the more reason to actually make it happen? Wouldn't this peace deal be the most memorable legacy?"

G'ulom gives her a weak, wistful smile. "Sometimes it's better to focus on preparing for what you will do once the debris falls, than burn yourself out trying to prevent the inevitable blast from happening. But I think you might know that already."

Carrie frowns, automatically pushing away what she considers irrelevant analogies. "If the negotiations won't be renewed, the Taliban will take over the country. You can't let that happen," she says with a grimace and a hint of desperation in her voice.

"It seems that Jalal Haqqani is a preferred ally these days," G'ulom says grimly, his tone growing menacing when he adds under his breath. "And I will not seat in one room with him to talk about peace."

Even though she suspects he might not tell her the whole truth, Carrie considers asking if he knows the details of the arrangement between Russia and Haqqani, but before she makes up her mind as to how to formulate the question, they are interrupted by the noise of a large explosion which makes the Presiden't office windows rattle in their frames.

Exchanging a look with G'ulom, Carrie hurries to take a look outside, but cannot see anything that would indicate the source of the unsettling sound. The President rises slowly to his feet.

Stepping away from the windows, Carrie suddenly stops dead in her tracks, struck by a thought. She pulls her phone out of her purse and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of pictures and a seconds-long footage of an attack on an American soldier in the middle of Kabul, already posted in a doubtlessly coordinated manner, on various social media sites.

She bites her lip in order not to cry, upset and angry that she was wrong to hope that the attacks were to be postponed, that Yevgeny would really not give her time to talk to G'ulom first. Scrolling through different pages, Carrie blinks in surprise at the unexpected sight. Zooming in on one of the photos, she is stunned to see a little blurry but unmistakable image of Jalal Haqqani's face in the background.

“He is here. He is in Kabul,” she whispers to herself, her unseeing eyes roaming frantically around the room before they dart to G'ulom and he almost flinches under the intensity of her gaze. “Would you resume the negotiations if Jalal Haqqani was out of the picture?” She asks in a low, determined voice, her eyes fixed on him in an unblinking stare.

Her heart hammering in her chest, Carrie feels as if the room is simultaneously closing in on her and expanding endlessly into an infinite universe.

The President nods unsmilingly either because he senses the gravity of her question or because she must look undaunted to the point of madness.

“Yes,” he says quietly, but firmly enough to make her believe him.

xxxhomelandxxx

“He can hear you, you know,” Jenna says through her teeth, glancing at Saul before looking back at Mike who continues commenting loudly on what he is seeing on the screen of his phone, having been prompted to check the internet after the loud noise outside followed by a number of urgent phone calls and text messages.

“So what? Am I supposed to pretend anyone still believes the Taliban does anything these days without Russia's approval?” Mike fumes, his forehead wrinkling in a grimace.

Jenna sighs, stealing another glance at Yevgeny who is sitting away from them, in the other side of the hallway, checking his watch every once in a while.

_Too often_ , Saul thinks to himself, squinting, wondering whether Carrie's conversation with G'ulom could have been her own idea, only reluctantly allowed to come into being.

Then all of sudden there is another noise, this time not an explosion, but a clangorous sound coming from the direction of G'ulom's office.

There is a moment of silence, and then Saul's eyes shift to Yevgeny who in a suave but thunderous movement suddenly rises to his feet, dashes straight toward G'ulom's office, and storms through the door without bothering to knock.

“She's not here,” the President says with stiff calmness, apparently not surprised by Yevgeny barging in. Indicating the windows he adds in a low voice, holding Yevgeny's imperceptibly dismayed gaze. “She just asked me to close this window as loudly as possible five minutes after she would climb down the building and disappear from view.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's a long chapter. Many people get upset. And there is a cliffhanger at the end. Have a great weekend! ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your wonderful comments and kudos! It is very heartwarming to know that you are enjoying this story :)

After turning abruptly into an alley to take a shortcut and also to pick up her phone in a less crowded place than the streets she just hurried through, Carrie smiles briefly at the involuntary sigh of relief on the other side when she takes the call. She guesses Yevgeny must have thought she would not answer the phone at all.

"Where are you?" He asks in the harshest tone he can probably muster under the circumstances.

"In Kabul.” Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she is not being followed, Carrie rushes along another alleyway, hoping that she correctly identified the possible place where Jalal Haqqani could be hiding. According to the plan, there were several attacks planned for this week, so if he intended to be here for all of them, chances were he would be staying in Kabul for the next couple of days.

"Carrie." Yevgeny utters her name in a tone reminiscent of a threat but also laced with worry.

"You didn't call off the attacks," she says sternly, adjusting the cerulean blue shawl wrapped around her head, which she took from the car after leaving the presidential palace.

"I told you I wouldn't," he retorts with an irate huff, and adds after a moment of hesitation, apparently not sure if it is the best argument to use, but deciding to do so anyway. "And you said 'okay'."

"You said 'okay' to 'Islamabad first', and then you stuck a needle in my neck," she riposts, walking out of the alley and turning into a narrow, crooked street.

She can imagine Yevgeny running his hand over his face in exasperation.

"Carrie." This time there is as much anger as worry in his voice and she feels absurdly sorry for causing him distress. "Just tell me where you are,” he continues pleading with her, although she suspects he is already trying to track the location of her phone, so she keeps moving as quickly as possible. “Even if you find him, what's your plan?” Yevgeny asks impatiently. “He won't be alone and as soon as anyone notices you are up to something they will shoot you point-blank. And that's the best case scenario."

She knows Yevgeny is right, but somehow this makes her even more determined to carry on, because it seems like the only way to pull him out of his plan-based comfort zone. If he wants to protect her, he will have to become just as reckless, which seems like a judicious prerequisite to turning the tables, and she has not given up on that just yet.

"Don't you know by now?” Carrie says into the phone, her eyes fixed on the building in front of her. “I don't have a plan. I'm making it up as I go."

His muffled, humorless snort sounds incredulous and pained. "You need to tell me where you are." He exhales sharply and she trembles as if she could actually feel his breath on her face. "Carrie." The anger is gone and he just sounds ardently worried.

After crossing the street, she stops in her tracks, regarding her surroundings through narrowed eyes. "I like when you say my name like that," she says in a suddenly soft voice.And hangs up.

xxxhomelandxxx

Shooting his phone a glare before sliding it back into his pocket, Yevgeny takes a look around the car. Sure enough, there is only one gun left in the car compartment, which he acknowledges with a sigh, mostly of relief. Carrie must have stopped to pick up a few things after leaving the building. Her blue shawl is also gone.

Glancing over his shoulder at the sound of a couple of vehicles approaching, Yevgeny gets out of the car to meet Vitaly and Saad whom he asked to bring a motorcycle for him. In addition to having his people drive around the city, he thinks he might be able to find Carrie faster this way, especially since he already knows her approximate location based on the phone signal. He also tries to already think of a way to explain all of this to the rest of the delegation without giving the impression that Carrie is acting unhinged.

But then his train of thought is interrupted when after turning around, he suddenly comes face to face with Saul.

“I don't have time,” Yevgeny says with a grimace when Saul does not immediately say anything. “I have to go find Carrie," he adds by way of a superfluous explanation, momentarily disgruntled that he said it out loud, but it is all he can think of right now.

Aftertossing his coat into the car, Yevgeny goes to talk to Vitaly and Saad, who leave with additional instructions after exchanging a few words with him. He knows it is rather risky to engage more people, but involving an entire special operations team seems like an inevitable option.

“It is about Carrie.”

Saul's voice makes Yevgeny's glowering gaze shift to the side where he finds Saul standing next to the motorcycle.

Handing a scrap of paper to Yevgeny, Saul says in a low, steady voice. “This is where Haissam Haqqani could often be found. Perhaps Jalal is also staying there. Or at least that's probably where Carrie is going to look first,” he adds with a brief, wistful smile.

With a twitch of his mouth, Yevgeny plucks the piece of paper from Saul, looking down at it and quickly scanning the address. Shifting his eyes back to Saul, he mutters under his breath. “Thank you.”

Saul nods once, squinting a little. “She'll be fine,” he says after a moment of hesitation. “She always is, eventually.”

It is difficult to tell just by the tone of his voice or the unreadable expression on his face, but it seems that Saul's remark is spontaneous, meant to be reassuring. That he must simply be worried too. However, it somehow aggravates Yevgeny.

“There is a lot that can happen between any given moment and 'eventually',” he says with a hint of grim derision in his voice while getting on the motorcycle. “Especially if you have to wait seven months to be rescued."

There is something sinister about his fathomless gaze, Saul thinks, and wonders if Carrie is somehow oblivious to that or actually able to break through these impenetrable defenses. He tilts his head to the side, his forehead wrinkling in a grimace. “That's a curious reprimand coming from you.”

"Curious? I don't see why," Yevgeny says evenly, squeezing the motorcycle clutch lever and starting the engine. He thinks it is probably unwise to say anything more at this point, but for some reason Saul's presence triggers all that pent-up anger to be unleashed. "To me she was a stranger, an enemy officer caught red-handed on my soil. Back then it wasn't my responsibility to keep her safe. But I _am_ keeping her safe now." He fixes his baleful stare at Saul, lowering his voice to a minatory whisper. "And I'd advise you to refrain from constantly putting her in harm's way by perpetuating hazardous practices." He pauses for a split second before adding. "Professor."

Not a muscle twitches in Saul's face at Yevgeny's words, and his tone is utterly unperturbed, when right before Yevgeny rides away, Saul dares him in a low, controlled voice. "Well, if you believe that's true, if you have any proof it is true, then not reporting it to your government would make you an accomplice in treason, wouldn't it?"

xxxhomelandxxx

After observing the building for a couple of minutes, Carrie concludes that she remembered the address correctly and that it is worth to venture inside to see if Jalal Haqqani may be there. She is not sure what exactly Yevgeny is going to do once he finds her, so just in case his priority would be to stop her from getting to Haqqani, she decides to jump right into action.

Sneaking into a back alley, she starts climbing up the derelict building, cautiously peering into the windows on each floor, until she comes across what looks like an empty apartment used for storage. Nimbly opening the decrepit window from outside, she slinks inside the room and as noiselessly as possible crosses it toward the door which leads to a dilapidated stairway.

The building seems mostly vacated, which makes it easy to determine the direction from which several voices are coming from. After pulling out a gun and cocking it, Carrie slowly makes her way up the last flight of stairs. She simultaneously imagines several possible scenarios, sorting them based on the number of people she may have to face.

Treading carefully along the wall, she tries to make out and count the distinct voices and also interpret all other sounds to determine whether the people inside an apartment at the end of the hallway were at their leisure, preparing for something or about to leave.

The closer she gets, the more voices she thinks she hears. The estimated number she arrives at is not reassuring, and she has a sickening feeling, as she is suddenly reminded about what happened to Quinn in Kosovo, about how it only takes a moment to make a single mistake or a wrong decision, and fall into a trap which may obliterate thousands of days of immaculate record of prowess, caution, and luck.

Gritting her teeth, Carrie wonders if she is even fully aware of all the reasons why she is here right now? To resuscitate the peace negotiations. To thwart further attacks on soldiers. To prove what side she is on. To force Yevgeny to rectify the original plan. To avenge Max. To remind herself about the stakes.

To punish herself for being tempted to stop fighting for everything all the time and just be happy.

Closing her eyes for a couple of seconds, Carrie tries to steady her breathing. She used to think she did not know how to be happy. But then one day, to her dismay, she realized that she could be, _was_ happy no matter what might be happening in the world. And it was the most frightening, unacceptable thought.

A muffled sound of footsteps makes Carrie press her back to the wall as closely as possible, her eyes fixed on the door to her right, which suddenly opens, and then three men walk out.

Minuscule grains of dust circulate in the air like a thin veil of dirty fog, and for a few seconds she is simultaneously here and dashing across the sunlit fields toward Max after he had been shot.

The three men walk slowly across the hallway, talking, their backs toward the wall against which she is standing, half-hidden behind now open door. Holding her breath, Carrie immediately recognizes Jalal Haqqani's silhouette and she can hear in her ears what she only saw from too great a distance five years ago, Max falling to the ground through no fault of his own, and Jalal Haqqani driving away without a second thought.

Her mind is blank when she pulls the trigger. There is no fear or an escape plan. Just a moment in time that may or may not lead to a next one.

She can see Haqqani dropping to the ground and she has more bullets, so she fires toward the two men by his side before they fully turn around.

But then more people tumble out of the room alarmed by the noise. She has no more bullets left and she knows she will not be able to fight a dozen people at the same time.

She thinks how curious it is that all she can feel is sadness as the world seems to be falling apart in slow motion. Someone hits her and her head collides with the wall, making her surroundings spin. Maybe that is why her mind is suddenly made out of fragments, small, sharp-edged pieces swirling around like dark snowflakes. She thinks of Frannie and Leo, of how they will probably never meet, which suddenly seems like such an absurdly important, sorrowful thing.

And in the frenzied haze of the moment, it feels like an image plausibly conjured up by her mind when the stairway nearby explodes, and the windows crash as several people jump inside. Clouds of smoke seem to fill the entire space and all of a sudden the air smells only of gunshots and death.

Carrie slides to the slippery ground, lands in a pool of blood, maybe hers, maybe not, she is not really sure about anything right now. She tries to stand, but to no avail. Her eyes burn from the smoke.

Then someone picks her up from the floor and she inhales sharply, panic-stricken for a heartbeat, before the sensation disperses at the sound of Yevgeny's voice in her ear, in her head, all around her. Maybe it is a dream, but she digs her nails into his skin and hopes it isn't. She does not know what he says, cannot make out the words, but they feel warm and they glimmer in the darkness as she is drifting off to sleep.

xxxhomelandxxx

Carrie wakes up in a hotel bed, not in a hospital, which she acknowledges with relief. Pushing herself to a sitting position with an effort, she looks around the dimly lit bedroom, before her eyes notice a ray of light coming from the adjacent room through the door left ajar.

She lets go of a breath she did not know she was holding when she hears Yevgeny's voice. He is talking in Russian and she thinks he must be either on the phone or in a video call, because other voices are less clear, but fairly audible. She infers from the conversation that Jalal Haqqani is dead and that he apparently violated the terms of some agreement, which she suspects is probably not true. Then again some kind of a schedule is being discussed and in that context it does sound like he might have acted not in accordance with it. In any case, she feels a little dizzy and listening to what is being said too closely makes it worse. Holding her head in her hands, Carrie closes her eyes, focusing only on the melody of Yevgeny's voice, the way in which he pronounces specific words, lets some syllables linger. The familiarity of the sounds is soothing, they feel like a cozy, well-lit house in which she can hide.

"Carrie?"

She looks up, thinking she must have dozed off while sitting in the middle of the bed with her legs folded under her, because she did not notice when he finished his call.

There is a trace of irritation in his demeanor, but it vanishes when she just looks at him in silence.

With a barely perceptible sigh, he comes up to sit near her on the bed and asks with a genuinely perplexed frown. "What was that, Carrie?"

She shrugs tiredly. "You said they'd shoot me point-blank, so I figured I better do just that but first." She grimaces, displeased with the unintended tonelessness of her voice, but finding it hard to speak in a more animated manner.

She is still feeling strangely tired and dizzy and her eyelids keep fluttering shut out of their own accord, so when he gathers her to him, she immediately falls into his arms, and her surroundings become steadier when he hugs her.

Despite being quite evidently upset, he cradles her against him and presses a kiss to her forehead.

"The doctors said you had a mild concussion and that you should rest. G'ulom scheduled a meeting for tomorrow but I think it should be moved to the next day."

"No, no, it's better not to postpone it," she says with as much strength as she can muster and he smiles a little into her hair at her indefatigable determination. "I was in a hospital? I don't remember."

"We didn't stay long. But you hit your head, so it had to be checked."

"I don't like hospitals," she says drowsily and closes her eyes when he starts caressing her hair.

"I know,” he whispers, brushing a kiss over her temple.

"Did you have a lot of explaining to do?" She asks, smiling inwardly at the thought that the less clear-headed she seems, instead of trying to take advantage of that, it always elicits more tenderness from him.

He snorts humorlessly. "I wouldn't qualify this as explaining. More like a necessitated, by Jalal Haqqani's insubordination, change of approach."

"Okay," she whispers with a sigh, in such an impassive voice that it makes Yevgeny snort wryly again.

Tilting his head to the side, he narrows his eyes at her. "Are you just pretending to be all dazed and drowsy?"

Carrie laughs weakly under her breath, snuggling her face against his chest. "No. Why would I do that?"

He rests his cheek on the top of her head. "So I wouldn't be angry with you."

She slides her hand over his shoulder. "You said you can never be really angry with me."

"No," he says squinting into the distance. "I said _you_ can never be really angry with _me_."

She smiles, glancing up at him. "Same thing."

Looking down at her, he gently runs his fingertips across her face and frowns, moving his palm back to her forehead. "You have a fever."

"See? I'm not pretending."

Smiling faintly, Yevgeny presses a soft kiss to her lips. "I'll go get you some tea and wet compresses," he says, preparing to gently lower her onto the pillows before rising to his feet, but she stops him by securely wrapping her arms around his neck.

"No. Don't go anywhere. Stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere. I just-" he trails off, and she thinks she knows exactly what her words must remind both of them of.

He holds her tight, slowly striking her hair, and they are silent for a longer while. Carrie tries to guess what time it is. It feels like the middle of the night, but maybe it is just an impression.

"Thank you for not being late," she says a little abruptly, in a hollow, suddenly more sober voice, the memory of what happened today triggering images of lives lost, tragedies frozen in time, impossible to rewind or make up for. "I'm always late," she explains, lowering her voice. "I was late for 9/11, late for the memorial service bombing, for the embassy attack, late for Brody, and Quinn, and Max. I'm always too late to save anyone.” She inhales sharply before adding in a quiet, self-accusatory tone. “And I have to live with all of that because somehow I always get out."

Turning her into his arms, Yevgeny places his hands on either side of her face, looking deeply into her eyes. "Carrie. None of that nonsense again. You have saved plenty of people. Getting hung up on what went wrong is not going to fix anything. And you can't blame yourself every time for the very existence of evil."

Her face contorting in a grimace, Carrie gives him a tearful look. "Couldn't we get rid of it?" There is no trace of humor in her tone and he finds it both endearing and heartbreaking.

"Like I said, you have a fever," he says, leaning his forehead against hers and she smiles brokenly through the tears gathering in her eyes. After they share a few unhurried kisses, he tightens his embrace around her, and whispers in a pensive, grim voice. "I _was_ late too. For you. I wish nothing bad has ever happened to you."

Tracing the side of his face with her fingertips, she whispers in a soft, conspiratorial tone. "When I'm with you I feel as if it never has."

xxxhomelandxxx

Carrie thinks that after what happened with Jalal Haqqani, the rest of the Russian delegation might start giving her a hard time, but just on the contrary, they actually start treating her with greater attentiveness and she is left wondering what kind of a tale exactly Yevgeny spun for them. After a short meeting in the morning, the Minister of Defence and one of the members of the International Affairs Committee go to visit the troops while the other IAC's member accompanies Yevgeny and Carrie to the meeting with President G'ulom.

They arrive on time, minutes before two members of The Afghanistan High Peace Council, and the new Taliban leader Abdul Nafez, Jalal Haqqani's successor, who, Carrie decides, exudes caution and confidence, but also seems distrustful and surreptitiously spiteful.

She wonders what Saul thinks of him, but there is not much to be deduced from silent looks, and she does not want to risk making the slightest impression that the fallout five years ago was not the last time they were in any communication with each other, so she knows she will not have a chance to talk to him about it. Especially since lately, she feels oddly transparent to Yevgeny, more than she has ever felt before, as if he could see through her very easily. She used to feel quite confident about keeping some secrets and it catches her off guard to suddenly realize that it has changed, somehow, and she is not sure if it is a good or a bad thing.

She glances at Yevgeny's hand when he takes a pen from her, the fleeting touch shaking her out of her reverie and when she catches his gaze, she realizes that was probably his intention.

"I'm sorry, is everyone here really entitled to be here?" Mike asks with a grimace, making it clear whom he means by ostentatiously shifting his gaze from Carrie to G'ulom.

"I was wondering the exact same thing," Yevgeny deadpans, looking straight at Mike who narrows his eyes at him in turn.

"First of all, it is up to me to decide who can be here and why," G'ulom says slowly. "Secondly, the list of attendees is a subject to change at any time.” He gives Saul a piece of paper to pass around which, as Carrie notices when it reaches her, contains an attendance list with names and roles, which explains the face Mike makes after apparently familiarizing himself with Carrie's status as a Special International Relations Senior Adviser to the President of Russia.

The discussion turns out to be more productive than Carrie expected it to be. What helps to set the tone is G'ulom's enunciated disinterest in letting, what he euphemistically calls grudges between other countries impact how the situation in his country is being dealt with. To Mike's chagrin, the Afghan President seems to be giving the greatest consideration to what Carrie says and for some time she manages to forget all about complicated circumstances of this meeting, and just feel like she is doing something that matters simply because it does, and not because there are some countries-specific interests at stake.

After about three hours they decide to take a break and agree to reconvene in thirty minutes.

"I'll go get some air," Carrie says when it turns out that Yevgeny has to return some urgent phone calls.

"Okay," he says, checking for fever by touching her forehead with the back of his hand, which elicits a snort from her.

"You're ruining your popular image," she says in a stage whisper, leaning toward him.

"I didn't know I had one," he replies in a matching tone, grabbing her hand to accompany her outside.

Once they are in the garden behind the palace, he kisses her before walking away to make his phone calls.

After following him with her eyes, Carrie turns into a small, flowers-filled alley, wishing to clear her mind. Wandering through narrow paths tucked in between flowerbeds, she marvels inwardly at all the colors, and wonders if it is really possible that after all these years a peace deal could finally be reached. Maybe then she would feel partially rehabilitated, at least in her mind.

"Carrie?"

It is the oddest thing, she thinks, that his voice used to be the most familiar thing in the world and now she goes rigid at the sound. It is her fault, it must be, but there is also that part of her which is still tarnished by disappointment that he trusted her too much and yet not enough.

She turns around. "We shouldn't be talking," she says abruptly, her eyes scanning the surroundings, squinting against the sun.

Saul seems startled, just a little, although she cannot tell by what exactly. "I know," he says under his breath with the faintest, saddest smile and she feels tears burn her eyelids when she blinks rapidly to regain her composure.

Somehow it is only in this moment now that she really feels how much has changed. There is a barrier between them that she does not like, but also does not know how to tear it down, because she is not even sure if it is of his or of her own making.

"But I had to warn you," Saul continues in a benign tone, which reminds her of when he would visit her in a psychiatric ward, what feels like ages ago. "Yevgeny knows about Professor Rabinow."

Carrie shakes her head in bafflement. "What? No," she says with a grimace. "I mean…" She is quite certain Yevgeny did not know that back in Moscow, but maybe he figured it out later, maybe the possibility occurred to him when they ran into Saul here.

She notices a familiar glint in Saul's eyes, a sign of careful scrutiny taking place and she decides to save him time.

"He found out about the books, about Professor Rabinow, but I don't think he _knows_ it's you. In any case, that communication channel's been burned anyway, so…" She shrugs, looking away.

"You're not afraid."

It is a statement, but there is more than a hint of incredulity in it and she does not know whether to feel touched or offended.

"Afraid of what?" She thinks she may sound excessively defiant, but it feels too gratifying to resist demonstrating that she does not feel like a tamed animal in a gilded cage.

"I can see he cares about you," Saul finally says after studying her for a few moments in silence. "Maybe even more than he'd like. But do you really think he won't sacrifice you when it becomes expedient to do so?"

Saul's piercing gaze is difficult to hold, even though Carrie knows he is not being purposefully cruel. This is just what he believes. She feels like telling him that he does not understand anything, but finds it both absurd to use the same expression she used when she talked to Yevgeny about Saul, and there is also a matter of sounding gullible and naïve. Quite possibly, it would prompt him to reassert what he once told her. _"You are the smartest and the dumbest person I've ever known."_

"Tell me something," Saul continues, apparently correctly interpreting the expression on Carrie's face as vehement denial. "Have you ever told him something you shouldn't? Given him some highly sensitive, classified information? I'm not asking what or why or how often or how much," he says with a grimace and a wave of his hand. "Just... have you ever?"

She stares at him in silence, upset and hurt by a glimpse of pity which appears in his eyes.

"He ensnared you, somehow," Saul says with a sigh and a mournful smile. "You've never been _that_ blindsided." He takes a step toward her, the expression on his face turning utterly serious, urgent. "It will take some time to arrange that, a day or two, but it can be done. You could be extracted. I will provide President Hayes with the details of everything you sent to me in the last three years. It should be more than enough to justify your actions and exonerate you."

Her eyes roaming frantically all over Saul's face, Carrie feels a twinge of panic at the realization what his words mean. She takes a hasty step back, her eyes bright with tears.

Saul blinks, and looks at her as if she was suddenly standing on the edge of a roof, about to jump off a building. "Carrie."

"We have a son, you know?" She says shakily, and based on the expression on Saul's face it seems to her that he did not know. Apparently Dar Adal did not think it was a detail worth mentioning. Or maybe they just never talked about her at all. "He is with Yevgeny's parents now. I can't- I don't want to abandon another child," she whispers, almost choking on the words, impatiently wiping the tears off her eyes. "And-" she inhales sharply and says very quietly, almost running out of breath. "I don't want to leave my husband."

"Your husband?" Saul echoes sardonically and she knows he gets angry out of concern, but it still feels like a blow to the head when he says. "You mean your handler?"

She straightens up, her red-rimmed eyes suddenly dry. "If you think I actually am a defector," she says the words in a strained voice, her tone heavy with bitter contempt, "why would you even offer to extract me?"

"Because I want to help you," he says sincerely, but then his voice acquires a hint of impatient condescension. "Before you end up like Simone Martin, and become a disposable escort getting sent out on underhand assignments," he says through his teeth, more annoyed than angry, as if he should not have to be telling her such obvious things.

Carrie flinches at that, her face draining of all color in such a noticeable way that Saul tries to immediately albeit unconvincingly retract, but she makes it clear she is done listening to him.

"You know what the worst part is?” Carrie says, taking another step back. “That you didn't say that because of what you think of him. But because of what you think of me."

"No, Carrie. That's not what I-" Saul tries to cut in, his forehead wrinkling in a grimace, but Carrie interrupts him again.

"Only that it isn't true. Like many other things people, including you, apparently, think of me," she says with a grimace, her voice low and toneless. She blinks rapidly, managing to keep the tears at bay. "But maybe it's just the kind of insight only available to handlers,” she concludes dourly.

Without waiting for Saul to respond, she turns to leave, but then stops abruptly in her tracks at the sight of Yevgeny looking at her from a distance. He is too far away to have heard anything, but simply seeing her talking to Saul must have been enough, and the expression on his face makes Carrie's heart sink.

For a few moments she cannot move, overcome by the strangest wave of sadness washing over her when she realizes he does not glare at her angrily, but looks forlorn and disappointed instead. Deep down she knows that she has no reason to feel guilty, especially in the context of this particular conversation. But the thought that Yevgeny might question her loyalty to him, suddenly feels like the most appalling thing in the world. He already knows so much about her, about what she has been doing that perhaps he should not be surprised. Yet, this feels more personal, somehow.

He does not wait for her or walks up to her. After catching her gaze, he walks away, back toward the building, and Carrie follows him all the way into G'ulom's office where he makes a point of avoiding looking at her.

Saul soon joins them and the negotiations commence, which makes Carrie feel a little better. She decides to concentrate only on the matter at hand, reasoning with herself that in the evening she will be able to talk to Yevgeny and explain everything to him (or at least explain as much as she feels she needs to explain).

Arrangements are being made and everything is going so well that Carrie catches herself suddenly expecting that something is bound to go wrong. She glances at Yevgeny who seems to be looking at the list of prisoners G'ulom agreed to release but she can see he is thinking about something else and she wonders if he is struck by the same sense of foreboding. It never takes one meeting to settle this kind of a deal.

"It seems that we have reached an agreement," G'ulom says the words rather flatly and it makes Carrie think he is also expecting something else to happen.

Nafaz nods slowly. "Yes, and like I said, I can vow for all the factions to honor this agreement. I have talked to everyone and we all agree this war has to end. If a joint government can guarantee that all the voices will be heard, this is the path we all want to pursue."

Tilting his head to the side, his eyes narrowed in a thoughtful expression, Yevgeny regards Nafaz in silence, and Carrie guesses he is trying to decide whether his words only sound meaningless or are about to become worthless, because of some additional demand that has not been revealed just yet.

"I believe we have already established all that," Saul points out with a brief smile.

Based on everyone's facial expressions, Carrie decides that by now Mike may be the only person in the room not expecting the other shoe to drop.

"There is one more thing," Nafaz says after a pause and the silence that follows seems to reverberate in the room with the intensity of a sound. "We would like to honor our fallen leader."

"Of course," Mike says, shrugs almost, and frowns in confusion upon receiving several admonishing looks.

"His murderer got away," Nafaz continues with perfect calmness. "But we have reasons to believe it was a foreigner, so we would like to ask for your help in identifying that person."

It feels like the entire world suddenly coming to a standstill and it takes all of Carrie's willpower to continue to breathe.

"And then what?" G'ulom asks somewhat nonchalantly.

Nafaz' face is unreadable, his voice disturbingly patient when he explains. "Then we would ask for this person to be delivered over to us, so we could impart whatever punishment we decide to be just to avenge Jalal's death."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is WAY too long, but it wouldn't make sense (for me at least haha) to split it into two. Besides, it's ch. 12, so we can just pretend it's that long because it's a season finale ;)
> 
> Oh wait, I forgot the actual summary: lots of talking and a... complication at the end.  
> (I think I'm getting the hang of this 'chapter summary' thing, what do you think?! lol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for your beautiful & kind comments & kudos!!! :)

Carrie knows it may just be the kind of mood she is in due to her argument with Saul, and then Yevgeny seeing them talk. But she rather thinks it is more about her inherent preference for a confrontation when she decides to reply to Nafaz.

However, the reply does not happen, because before she even opens her mouth to speak, Yevgeny who must have sensed her intention, furtively grabs her hand with the speed of a cobra, and squeezes it so hard that for a split second the pain makes her see bright spots in front of her eyes, his knuckles turning white as he keeps her forearm in a steely grip, wordlessly warning her not to speak.

Due the placement of their chairs, and the angle at which they are seated, only Saul seems to have noticed the movement, and Carrie does not like the way in which his eyebrows rise, as if he considers the gesture brutish. It reminds her of when she had to so frequently deal with too many people feeling authorized to judge and comment on her every move, and it may just be the one thing she does not miss from her old life. _Old life_ , the words echo in her head, and she finds herself drawn to the phrase _new life_ more. Maybe it is because it may be the first time she feels it is threatened... her _new life_ , and she is suddenly terrified by the thought that she might lose it before she learned to live it.

"With all due respect," Mikhail, another member of their delegation representing Russia's International Affairs Committee is the first one to speak as he straightens up, his eyes focused directly at Nafaz. "This condition does not seem fair. We will be looking for a needle in a haystack." Indicating Yevgeny with a leisurely wave of his hand, he adds. "When we stormed the place, the perpetrator or... perpetrators were already gone."

Carrie is certain the entire Russian delegation knows very well what happened and that it was her, so as reassuring as it is that they do not seem inclined to immediately disclose that, she knows this stance may yet change. From the Kremlin's perspective, she probably still isn't very valuable. One audacious book and a handful of state secrets is certainly not enough to make her safety a national priority.

"Yes, we appreciate you acting so promptly on that... anonymous tip, was it?” Nafaz' voice seems free of any undertones but Carrie suddenly wonders if he does not actually know it was her who killed Jalal Haqqani. “Unfortunately, Jalal is still dead and his murderer is not."

"Shall we adjourn for today?" G'ulom cuts in, narrowing his eyes at him. “It's been a long day and we seem to have come to a standstill. Let's meet a day after tomorrow to see if we might have any new information and in the meantime you could perhaps consult the matter further and reconsider your request?”

“It's been widely discussed and carefully considered,” Nafaz says in an artificially patient tone, rising to his feet. “Hopefully you will be able to fulfill our request when we meet again.”

xxxhomelandxxx

Yevgeny does not say a word on their way to the hotel and when they enter their suite he still says nothing at all as they go through their evening routine and get into their sleepwear. He does not say anything when he shows her the picture of Lev his mother sent. And when after brushing her hair, Carrie walks back into the bedroom, she notices that one of the pillows is gone. With a frown, she hastens into the adjacent room where she finds Yevgeny apparently intending to sleep on a couch, his arm thrown over his eyes.

“Really? You're throwing a tantrum because I spent ten minutes talking to Saul?” She huffs, walking up to him. She knows he has a reason to be upset, that maybe he even _should_ be upset, but at the same time she wishes they could be getting over situations like that without pointless disagreements.

“I don't think I'm throwing a tantrum. I'm sleeping,” Yevgeny murmurs evenly without uncovering his eyes.

“Tantrum. Silent treatment. Whatever,” Carrie mutters grumpily, looking at him with a grimace. “Maybe I should just go turn myself in to the Taliban.”

Her forehead wrinkling in a frustrated frown, she notices his mouth twitch but he does not move an inch otherwise.

“I will take care of this,” he says after a pause in that mesmerizingly confident but soft voice that always sends shivers up her spine. “Go to sleep, Carrie.”

“I don't need you to take care of anything!” She pulls the pillow from under his head and tosses it across the room, causing his head to bump against the side of the couch which, however still does not make him change his position in any significant way. Drawing a breath, she adds with feigned casualness. “Or maybe I should take Saul up on his offer to extract me back to the US.”

There is a moment of such absolute silence that Carrie can hear herself exhale.

Slowly, Yevgeny removes his arm from his eyes and lifts his head to look at her.

She is not sure how believably aloof she can look wearing only a black lace chemise, but she tries to keep a grim expression on her face even when she notices a ghost of a smile flicker across his face.

Pushing himself to a sitting position, Yevgeny looks at her for a few more seconds through half-hooded eyes, before rising to his feet. "He said you could go back?"

"Yes," Carrie confirms quietly. She is not exactly sure where she is going with this confession, but for now she is glad to have at least managed to provoke him into a conversation..

Yevgeny grunts noncommittally in acknowledgement and for a few moments just looks at her. Still holding her gaze, he walks up to her, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in a familiar, soothing gesture.His fingers linger on her cheek when he asks. "And what did you say?"

"I said…" She starts, intending to just say that she said she did not wish to be extracted, but then she decides to be more precise in quoting her own words. "I said that I don't want to… that I don't want to leave you."

Sliding his outstretched hand into her hair, his other hand clasped around her waist, he kisses her fiercely on the mouth, and she kisses him back, unhesitatingly, cupping his face in her hands. It always feels so mutually bewitching when they fall into each other's arms like that, no matter what secrets are still swirling around. Moreover lately, it also seems to her that the secrets are losing their murky taint, and becoming more of a temporary inconvenience. With her eyes closed and their lips inseparable, she can almost imagine a point in time with no secrets between them.

"What else did you talk about?" Yevgeny asks, nuzzling her neck, running his hands up and down her back.

Breathing hard, Carrie smiles faintly, trailing kisses across his cheek. "Mostly about your obviously nefarious intentions and me…" She trails off, her lips hovering over his. She thinks, taking a moment to silently marvel at that, how strange it is that there are some words, constantly reused, that never cease to taste new. “...loving you too much."

His hand still tangled in her hair, he slowly draws back to look at her. "And do you?" He asks with a hint of a half-feverish, half-incisive smile, tracing the contour of her face with his thumbs. "Love me too much?"

She wonders if she does not say it often enough, maybe this is why he always react to it as if he hears her say it for the first time. "Yes," she whispers, her forehead falling against his. "Do you?"

He kisses her slowly, thoroughly, her lips feeling warmer with every kiss until the fire spreads all the way to her toes and fingertips.

"I love you more than too much," he whispers against her mouth, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and she tries to memorize the raw sincerity of his tone, so she could keep going back to it at will, to this overwhelming feeling of bliss she fears may not even be allowed to exist. "And that is why I need you to stop running off and shooting people," he adds in a more pragmatic tone, cupping her face in his hands.

She returns both his grimace and his smile. "G'ulom said he wouldn't negotiate with Haqqani. And then I saw the posts about the attack on that soldier and I just… got upset overall," Carrie concludes with a sigh, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I know you didn't like all the details, but it wasn't a bad plan," Yevgeny insists, tilting his head to the side. "And it doesn't look like we are better off with Nafaz anyway. Speaking of," he continues with a hint of admonishment in his tone, narrowing his eyes at her. "What were you going to say to him during that meeting?" With a frown, he unwraps one of her hands from around his neck and presses a kiss to the bruise he finds on her forearm. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what you were going to say.”

Carrie shrugs. "Ask whether he suspected anyone. Maybe say at some point that it was me, I don't know," she admits after a pause to Yevgeny's dismay.

"Carrie," he says, his tone almost threatening, which makes her smile a little. "Don't you dare."

"Why not? I actually think he knows it was me and he just wants to negotiate better terms in exchange for not insisting on that request."

"Maybe," Yevgeny allows in a pensive voice after considering her words for a moment. "But it doesn't mean it's a good idea to be saying that out loud. Don't do that."

Carrie brushes her lips over his. "Don't do that, don't do this. Don't shoot. Don't run. What with all the commands?"

He smiles, propping her chin with his hand. "Military habits. Sorry, baby."

She smiles at how it no longer makes her anxious, this particular endearment. Maybe she _is_ feeling too secure again. Or maybe it is this newly found sense of safety that is here to stay.

She smiles back, and lowers her voice to a soft whisper. "You never talk about it. About the army, before the GRU."

"It was… different."

For a moment she thinks that he will say something more, but he does not.

"I had to listen to too many people I didn't like," he says with a trace of humor in his voice meant to steer the conversation away from that subject and she decides to let it go for now.

She locks her arms around his neck and presses a kiss to his lips. "See how your life's improved? Now you only need to listen to me."

xxxhomelandxxx

Breathing in the night air, Carrie stares out into the distance through an open terrace door. With her back pressed against Yevgeny's chest, their legs tangled together, she keeps lacing and unlacing their fingers, pondering the lasting sensation of floating among glimmering lights.

At such moments she likes recalling the past, juxtaposing grim, uncertain moments with the all-consuming warmth of here and now. Like that tense moment during a meeting break in Moscow, when he caught her gaze as he was walking up the stairs. Or when, after she was captured by the GRU, they were seating together in the backseat of a car, looking out the opposite windows. She does not know exactly why, but it makes her smile to contemplate the impossible miracle of going from impersonal hostility to love that knows no bounds. Or perhaps the reason is that it makes her believe that everything is possible: if this could happen, anything can.

"Carrie?" Yevgeny whispers her name into her hair and she shifts in his arms. "What information have you been sending to Saul? To justify an extraction, it had to be something of consequence."

She smiles to herself, thinking that she could not have dreamed it up if she tried. This perfect duality they shared. Always meandering somewhere in their thoughts while remaining so intoxicatingly close.

"I was wondering when you'd ask," She says, turning around to face him, placing her hand on his cheek, and slowly sliding her foot up and down his shin. "But you know I can't tell you."

He narrows his eyes at her. "No, I don't think I know that," he says, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger.

Her eyes wandering all over his face, she thinks he is not as guarded as he used to be. She feels like he is now often trying to throw bridges over those tumultous rivers between them, and not necessarily to drag her to his side (although she is sure this is still his preferred scenario), but to meet her somewhere on the bridge, so they could look at the water together.

She smiles a little, snuggling against him. "How did you find out about the bookstore?" She wonders if he could help her solve the mystery of the woman who tried to hijack her communication channel. It bothers her that she cannot figure out why the message she found in the book left by that woman contained the name of the military intelligence unit she is now technically a part of. Was she meant to intercept the message? Or was it supposed to reach Saul? What could possibly be the significance of the name alone?

"Well, I can't tell you,” Yevgeny says with a trace of a lopsided smile lighting up his eyes. “What was the communication code? Combinations of letters on a page? Page numbers, words in a book?"

She wonders if he is purposefully misleading her or if he really does not know about the messages in spines of the books. "Can't tell you." She shrugs, leaning into his touch when he gently moves his hand along the side of her face. "How do you even know anything I sent went to Saul?"

"Can't tell you."

Carrie stifles a snort. "Well, this conversation is going nowhere. Let's do something else."

Abruptly pushing Yevgeny onto his back, she straddles him in a gliding movement, and slided her palms up his chest. He smiles, pulling her down into a kiss with his hands on her face, in her hair. The kisses are growing heated very quickly and it takes them both a while to realize that the hotel room phone on the nightstand nearby started ringing.

Carrie lets out a frustrated grunt, nestling her face into Yevgeny's neck. "Did you order cookies and milk?" She asks against his skin, before rolling off him. He gives her an amused smile, kissing her while leaning over her to grab the receiver.

She does not hear what is being said on the other side but she is intrigued by the nonplussed look, which appears on Yevgeny's face.

"Yes," he says at last with a marked lack of enthusiasm. "It's okay. You may send him up. Thank you."

"What is it?" Carrie asks as soon as Yevgeny puts away the receiver.

He runs his hand over his face and then says with a grimace. "We have a visitor."

"At 12:25 am?" She asks, glancing at the clock.

"Apparently." He kisses her briefly before rising to his feet. "It's Saul," he adds, before turning to find something to wear.

She widens her eyes at him. "Saul? Why?" Carrie mutters in puzzlement, sliding off the bed.

"I don't know. You tell me. He's not from my network of contacts," he says wryly and she marvels a little at this having apparently become something to joke about. "Maybe he wants to follow up on your… or our conversation," Yevgeny says, glancing at her over his shoulder, while pulling a black t-shirt over his head.

Carrie gives him a questioning look. "Your conversation?"

"When you went to find Haqqani, he gave me his possible hideout's address. I had your location tracked, but it was good to be sure,” Yevgeny clarifies with a frown. “But then one word led to another, I told him I know he is Professor Rabinow, he told me not acting on that knowledge makes me a traitor. That kind of a pleasant exchange."

Carrie blinks in surprise, thinking that she would really like to know how Yevgeny found out for sure that she was in touch with Saul.

"You _are_ planning to wear something more than this?" Yevgeny asks, shaking her out of her reverie.

Stifling a chuckle, Carrie grabs a black silk robe to put it over her lace chemise, while he puts a pair of lounge pants on.

After splashing some water in their faces to refresh themselves, they head for the door just in time to hear the knocking.

"What's that for?" Carrie asks under her breath when Yevgeny straps a gun to his ankle.

"In case he'd try to kidnap you," Yevgeny whispers into her ear, presses a kiss to her cheek, and adds with a wink when she snorts at the idea. "I would."

She smiles, pushing her hair behind her ears as Yevgeny turns to open the door. His welcome is not cordial, Saul does not apologize for visiting at a strange hour, and yet Carrie cannot help a twinge of a positive feeling that is hard to name just yet. Maybe it is about converging paths of her life, about how it suddenly feels like there are no cracks and no gaps, and instead just a continuous line between her present and her past.

"I actually thought you wouldn't be asleep," Saul says when they sit down on a couch across from him.

They must look noticeably bewildered by this assumption or perhaps it is the fact that despite the size of the couch they are sitting so close to each other they can hardly move their arms. In any case, Saul's eyes shift between them a few times before he continues prompted by Yevgeny raising his eyebrows in a questioning expression.

There is something belligerent about his demeanor, and after briefly pondering it, it occurs to Carrie that it is probably not about her, or at least not only about her, but mostly about the fact that to Yevgeny, Saul is first of all, just someone who spent more than thirty years causing damage to his country.

"What are you going to do about Nafaz' request?"

Under the circumstances, the question seems more than a little absurd, and Carrie starts wondering what Saul is really up to. The positive feeling she got at first is already beginning to fade.

His head propped on his hand, Yevgeny looks at her, before looking at Saul. "I'm sorry, am I missing something here?" He asks with a grimace, his tone gradually changing from mildly annoyed to coldly acrimonious. "Did we agree to have a get-together to discuss this? Because last I checked, I asked you to stay away from my wife and on the next day, you offered to extract her, so I think the communication between us is rather faulty."

Carrie freezes, caught off guard by Yevgeny just throwing the extraction thing in Saul's face. Straightening up a little more, she is doing her best not to shy away from Saul's gaze, as he seems both angry and crestfallen that she told Yevgeny about it.

"I think the priority right now is to solve the problem with Nafaz," Saul says sternly.

"It will be solved," Yevgeny replies with a brief, sour smile. "Is there anything else we can help you with?"

"How will it be solved?" For whatever reason Saul seems determined to stay and it only strengthens Carrie's suspicion that his visit is probably not what it seems to be.

"We will figure it out," she says in a conciliatory tone.

Saul glances at Yevgeny who blinks at her words.

"Have you even talked about this?" Saul asks, squinting. "Because it seems to me that he has something in mind, but you have no idea what it is."

Carrie frowns at what appears to be yet another suggestion that she is being mistreated this way or another. "I don't think we need to explain to anyone what we talk about and when,” she snaps and looks at Yevgeny, when he takes her hand in his and squeezes it lightly in a reassuring gesture.

Saul's face is unreadable, but his gaze remains alert, and Carrie is suddenly reminded of her early CIA training days, and one of the indirect interrogation techniques relying on unexpected timing and interrupting someone's rest to have them behave in less controlled, more sincere ways.

"We'll try to negotiate with Nafaz, but if he remains inflexible, we'll give him what he wants," Yevgeny explains succinctly, possibly hoping that an answer might make Saul leave.

"Give him what he wants?" Saul echoes in puzzlement.

Carrie glances at Yevgeny, counting on him to elaborate, as she is suddenly curious what he has in mind.

With a sigh, as if he does not know why he even bothers, Yevgeny says, extending his hands in a gesture indicating that he considers this solution obvious. "If he insists, we'll find him a perpetrator. Lots of foreigners in this city to choose from," he adds in that resolute, almost toneless voice that she knows should still frighten her, at least a little, but it doesn't.

"And you are okay with that?" Saul asks, giving her a disbelieving look.

Yevgeny scoffs before Carrie has a chance to express her opinion. "You make it sound like we are going to search for the nicest person in the neighborhood and have them executed. I assure you this won't be the case."

"So you feel entitled to decide who deserves to become a scapegoat and be tortured to death by the Taliban?" Saul says with a hint of righteous indignation in his voice.

"A scapegoat?" Yevgeny widens his eyes at him in a mockingly incredulous expression. "Should I understand you are here to make a case for delivering Nafaz the actual perpetrator?" He asks rhetorically with a sardonic glimpse in his eyes before continuing in a cool, serious tone. "Perhaps you should start with a moment of self-reflection. Who is actually responsible for what happened? How far back should we go to find that… person? group? country? which breaking point of history? Whose history? You, your country has always been acting on the assumption that you know what is right, who is right. But what you are really doing is trying to turn an arbitrary feeling into a policy and wherever it doesn't work, there is war."

Her eyes focused on Yevgeny, Carrie can nonetheless feel Saul observing her from the corner of his eye. She wonders what he might think seeing her so caught up in Yevgeny's words. Does he realize it is simply love or does he think her allegiance has really shifted?

"I think you have too much blood on your hands to preach pacifism," Saul says in a low, coolly superior voice.

It seems like an obvious retort to say that they all do, but Yevgeny does not say it and Carrie suspects it is because of all the situations she was involved in. He does not say it, because he does not want to make her think of the drone strike or the ambush the special ops team fell victim to. And in a way she does not think about any of such moments at all. But in a way, she thinks about all of them, constantly. So she can deliver the retort herself, because it is simply the truth she never tried to part with.

"Don't we all? But this is not about us," Carrie cuts in with a grimace. "It's not about the US or Russia or any other country. Everyone talks about this peace deal like it's going to be an international achievement, like it should be beneficial to anyone. But that's not what it is. It's just a default setting that should be restored for the sake of the people here."

She looks at Saul but can feel Yevgeny's gaze on her, intent and warm, and something in Saul's eyes tells her that he sees it too and that it actually is some kind of a missing piece of evidence he has been looking for. He nods thoughtfully and she has an acute feeling that whatever experiment he apparently came here to perform, it is over, and whatever he is yet going to say will just be a smokescreen mixed with closing remarks.

With what seems like an exasperated sigh, Saul looks between them. "I just came here to say that until all of this is sorted out, as an American citizen and taking into consideration the special circumastances of this situation, Carrie is welcome to stay at the American Embassy in Islamabad. Just in case-"

_"You walk into that embassy, I'll never see you again."_ Yevgeny's words echo in Carrie's head and she is sure he thinks of that moment too when he cuts Saul off in mid-sentence, glaring at him.

"That won't be necessary," Yevgeny says, rising to his feet.

Carrie stands up as well, and then glances at Yevgeny's cell phone when it starts to buzz, chinking against the coffee table. They exchange a look and she walks Saul to the door while Yevgeny waits for him to leave before picking up his phone. In turn, Carrie waits until Yevgeny takes the call to gesture to him something hopefully vague and ambigous enough to explain why she leaves the room to follow Saul. She is not sure how she will justify it afterwards. Maybe she will just tell the truth, although the truth is unclear even to her, and appears to be a mixture of a genuine need to apologize and a wish to see if she can decipher Saul's intentions.

"I just wanted to…" Carrie starts, catching up with Saul half-way to the elevators. The dimly lit corridor makes it seem like another dimension, like they are meeting in the afterlife and it feels to her strangely appropriate, since in a way it is something like that, at least for her. "I wanted to apologize for telling your sister..." She trails off when Saul's grim expression actually brightens at that.

"It actually brought us back together," he says with a weak smile. "It seems that nothing breeds reconciliation better than death. We visit each other several times a year now."

Carrie snorts mirthlessly. "That's good, I guess." She does not know what else to say, even though she feels as if he expects her to. But this is not the right place or the right time for any new arrangements. If they are even an option. She is not sure what to do with all that just yet, so with a pensive frown, she makes to leave.

"Carrie."

For a moment, she is tempted not to turn around. But after drawing a sharp intake of breath she does.

"Why did you really come here?" She asks, puzzled, angry, worried, as if she already knows the answer.

Saul does not seem surprised by her question, and it feels to her like all those moments when they would find themselves on the same page, despite the chaos of another hell on earth.

"I wanted to see this up close,” he replies with a hint of scientific indifference in his tone.

Carrie knows he means her and Yevgeny, even though he enunciates 'this' as if he is talking about some unnatural phenomenon. It is not the first time when she wonders if he even understands the concept of love. Or her understanding of it, at least, as it always seems to dismay him.

"Something you said... I just suddenly remembered it yesterday. When I came to ask you about your interaction with Yevgeny, and you lied to me. Do you remember?"

Carrie nods imperceptibly, crossing her arms over her chest, her nails digging into the silk of her robe. It still evokes a deeply unpleasant feeling in her when she recalls how many people were listening in on that conversation by the fountain between her and Yevgeny.

"That lie you told me, that description of the meeting you wrote in your report. It was so absurd that it should've made me wonder back then already," Saul continues with a derisive grimace. "But at least it made me wonder now. You'd said you'd been laying the groundwork to bring him in from the cold. It only now occurred to me that you wouldn't have come up with something that ludicrous, if there wasn't a part of you that, for whatever reason, actually did entertain the thought, at one point or another."

Listening to him in silence, Carrie is on the verge of telling Saul that he is wrong and that it is impossible, but these statements feel somewhat contradictory. She would probably have to pick one, but she cannot decide which one of them she wants to believe more.

Or perhaps what she wants to believe is exactly the opposite. Maybe Saul is right. Carrie draws a shaky breath. She knows he is. She genuinely cannot tell what made her come up with that story for the report back then. The words just came to her. That is what she remembers. She just wrote what came to her mind, as if their conversation by the fountain really happened that way. A complete fabrication is what she knows Mike called it, and he was both right and completely wrong about that.

It was never a prevalent thought, but it was not one easily dismissible either, and in the course of the last five years, she did fantasize about recruiting Yevgeny. Although it was not until Dar Adal's offhand remark about the possibility of her going back to the US that the idea reoccurred to her like a spark in the dark.

"I keep making the same mistake. I always think that if I can't do something, it can't or shouldn't be done," Saul continues with a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. "But maybe it's high time to accept that the student has surpassed her mentor."

Saul's words make the spark burst into a flame, which burns like a raging firestorm, dashes across Carrie's mind. Wishing for Yevgeny to defect is one thing. Imagining it is another. But then actually believing in the possibility of it makes her head spin. It washes over her like an ocean wave, takes her breath away, sends a tremor after tremor through her.

This fragile, fervid thought of going home. Of going home with him.

Her mind conjures up dozens of images to go with this impossible idea and she tries to fight this dream with logic and reason but it rushes onward, restless like a storm, like her. She tries to cling to the impossibility of it, but paradoxically, Yevgeny's words remove the remaining stains of doubt off her mind. _"From what I've seen, you can do just about anything."_

"You can do more than I ever could, Carrie,” Saul says quietly, firmly, looking straight into her eyes. “You always managed to do more than anyone. Every time I thought it was all over you would find a solution or a way out. You think it's impossible, but is it really? If you thought of it at least once, it means that it is possible."

She can't stop shaking her head, even as the idea keeps blooming in her. They would take Frannie and Leo on a trip to the Smoky Mountains. She would show Yevgeny her home, her hiding places, take him to that beach in New York where there is always fog.

"Hours ago you were telling me he'll throw me under the bus if necessary, now you think he'll follow me to the ends of the Earth? What is this all about?” Carrie gives Saul a frustrated look and abruptly turns around, almost runs back to the suite.

She stops by the door to take a moment to regain her composure before entering the room, but the door suddenly opens right in front of her and Yevgeny practically drags her inside.

“Carrie, we have to go,” he says with a sense of urgency she has never heard in his voice before. “G'ulom is dead,” Yevgeny continues before she has a chance to say anything, and she gasps, genuinely saddened by the news. “Natural causes, they say. It doesn't matter anyway,” Yevgeny mutters with a frown. “He probably meant well, told his successor that you killed Haqqani, so he'd protect you, but he decided to buy some goodwill from the Taliban instead, and gave Nafaz your name.”

Carrie blinks in dismay. As much as she almost did not care to have this made public knowledge yesterday, now all the implications of the situation suddenly occur to her. “Who called?” She asks, struck by the thought, when after gathering a few essential items, Yevgeny starts helping her into her coat.

His eyes lock with hers for a split second, before he simply repeats. "Carrie. We have to go.”

"They want you to get rid of me, don't they?" She asks tonelessly, feeling the tears gather in the corners of her eyes.

A part of her knew that from the beginning. That one day something or everything she has done will blow up in her face. But now it feels all wrong and too soon and she cannot imagine their life together ending like this, with a quick, hollow sound of a broken string.

Yevgeny stares at her, and her breath catches in her throat at the sorrow in his eyes. "There was more to that deal with Haqqani," he says in a low, slightly hoarse voice, and she immediately realizes that he must be talking about the things that were not written down, at least not for her to see, the details of that secret agreement mentioned by Dar Adal. Apparently, the multilateral meeting yesterday was only a facade and real discussions were happening elsewhere.

Carrie frowns, trying to keep the tears at bay, as the realization dawns on her, that not only did she ruin the Kremlin's original plan by killing Haqqani, but this also made her a liability, the one thing preventing a peace deal and more importantly that other mysterious arrangement between Russia and the Taliban from happening.

"It's all null and void now," Yevgeny continues, and she instinctively focuses on the discernible information and its value, momentarily forgetting how it may personally affect her. "Nafaz not only doesn't want to uphold it, but he is threatening to publicly disclose the details of that agreement. And this can't happen."

The last sentence is barely audible. It blends into the silence that seems to hang heavily in the air between them, interrupted only by the thudding sound that at first Carrie attributes to an upcoming headache, thinking she is only hearing it in her head.

But then Yevgeny's eyes dart toward the open windows and it looks like he is straining his ears to identify the sound. He glances at her before rushing toward the terrace door, and she follows, the dull thumping growing louder and louder, accompanied by indistinct voices.

From the terrace, in the dead of night, they can see a large group of people moving in the distance, toward the hotel, like a dark wave illuminated by burning poles, flagpoles, as Carrie quickly realizes the moment the words that are being chanted become distinguishable, and she can make out the most frequently repeated phrase: 'justice for Jalal'.

With an odd sense of dull dread she says in a low voice. "They are coming for me.”

But to her astonishment, the dread immediately gives way when after turning to her, Yevgeny grabs her hand, kisses her, and whispers under his breath. “Like I said, we have to go.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fiction. In real life, always wear your helmet! ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your amazing comments & kudos! ❤
> 
> This chapter is brought to you courtesy of... me not sleeping three nights in a row lol Because I have to work this Saturday, so I wouldn't be able to finish this chapter on time otherwise. I just hope it's *somewhat* coherent... In other (better? ;) news, this story will not go on forever, because I finally have a rough outline of it... no, not written down, just in my head, but still ;)

There is something uniquely surreal about this strange night and for the first time it crosses Carrie's mind that she might die. It is not like she did not think about it before, because she did, or that she is afraid of it, because she is not. But it just never felt that _close_.

Yevgeny's motorcycle is parked in a hidden spot outside the hotel, in a back alleyway, and he is about to get on it, when Carrie plucks the keys from his hand.

"You can't go with me," she says with a grimace when he gives her a questioning look. She squeezes the keys in her hand to keep it from shaking, her own words sending cold shivers up her spine. The sudden thought of being separated from him is so painful and unimaginable that for a moment her mind goes completely blank.

“What do you mean?” He asks impatiently, scanning their surroundings and trying to estimate the current proximity of the crowd.

His almost dismissive tone, as if what she said was a nuisance and not an option at all, fills her with hope, but she tries to push the thought away. “If you go with me, you'll not be able to come back.” Drawing a hasty breath, she lowers her voice to a whisper. “If they told you to get rid of me and you won't do that-”

“Carrie, no one told me to get rid of you,” Yevgeny interrupts her, snatching the keys back from her and dragging her to him with both hands. “Yet,” he adds pointedly. “For now it's just about the new Afghan President and the new Taliban leader making a side deal. Unwisely, Nafaz tried to blackmail the Kremlin to get more money and the information regarding Haqqani's death, but he got the information from the new President, so that's irrelevant now. What we need to do is get you to safety and then we'll think what to do next.”

He gets on the motorcycle and motions for her to sit behind him. She feels like she should argue or at least hesitate, but he says her name again and she makes an effort to push the sense of foreboding away. When she jumps onto the motorcycle, and wraps her hands around his waist, he briefly squeezes them in a reassuring gesture. “Hold on tight, because the helmets have gone missing,” he mutters, slightly inclining his head to look at her. “Okay?”

After quickly gathering the lower parts of the robe and the coat she is wearing to keep them from getting caught up in the wheels, Carrie presses a kiss to his cheek. “Okay,” she whispers against his skin when he quickly inserts the key into the ignition and turns the engine on.

"Is it the actual 'okay' or our 'okay'?"

Carrie chuckles weakly under her breath. "Is our 'okay' not the actual 'okay'? I feel like it should be the other way around."

He gives her a smile over his shoulder before swinging down on the kick-starter, and she rests her chin on his shoulder as they speed along the alleyway and then turn into a wider street. Carrie cannot remember when was the last time she was on a motorcycle without a helmet and she is caught of guard by the sheer strength of the air slamming against her, taking her breath away. Tightening her grip around Yevgeny, she glances at the dark sky and then rests her cheek on his shoulder, watching different kinds of lights in the streets they are passing by. It feels like traveling through space, through distant galaxies made out of iridescent glimmers thrown haphazardly across their way. Every glimmer of light seems to spark a memory and she thinks of her past, as glimpses of her life flash across her mind. She remembers her first trip to Kabul. Back when she was so sure she could change the world merely by being brave and determined and by the virtue of having good intentions.

They keep making sharp turns and she feels her heartbreat quicken at the sensation. The wind is tugging on her hair, the night air is pleasantly cool on her face, and when she lifts her head, Yevgeny's hair tickles the side of her face. She looks at him, at his profile as he drives fast across the streets and after trailing kisses across the side of his face, from the corner of his eye all the way down to his jawline, she presses her cheek to his, their eyes fixed on the road ahead.

With her life hanging in the balance and another doomed mission about to go up in flames, this night should seem ghastly to her. But when they take another turn into a road which leads toward the mountains looming majestically in the distance, she is struck by the feeling of happiness so raw and bright that it brings tears to her eyes. She suddenly feels ageless and timeless, bound to nothing but this feeling inside her, inside him. Their faces touching, her chest molded against his back as they dash across the dimly lit darkness of this vibrant, long-suffering country, it feels intoxicating to merely breathe. She wants to tell him she loves him, over and over again, but the words could get lost in the wind, so she just tightens his embrace around his waist and closes her eyes, smiling when in silent response he presses his cheek a little more against hers.

She is somewhat surprised when after a fairly short ride they arrive in the vicinity of the Russian embassy, and even more perplexed when upon entering a code into a side gate, they actually enter the premises. To her further bewilderment they ride toward a church building and there they finally stop. After turning off the engine, Yevgeny gets off the motorcycle and after helping her to do so as well, he pulls her into his arms.

"Aren't we a little late for a Divine Liturgy?" She asks, leaning into his touch when he places his hand on her cheek, as if silently asking her if she is okay.

"Well, one could argue you're a little early."

Carrie's eyes dart to the side in surprise, but Yevgeny does not seem startled by the priest who suddenly appears on the steps leading to an inconspicuous door almost indistinguishable from the wall and she quickly realizes the priest must have been expecting them.

Looking up at the building, Carrie recalls reading a few years ago about a Russian Orthodox Church being built in Kabul and the difficulties surrounding the construction works. It seems like an unexpected but at the same time probably an unsurprising hiding place, and it suddenly crosses her mind that she does not really know if Yevgeny believes in God. For some reason, the subject never came up, and she can only recall one religion-related incident. During her first year in Moscow, on the day when the last series of interrogatory meetings regarding her status was concluded, they went to the St. Basil’s Cathedral. He did not explain why they were going there and she did not ask. They spent maybe half an hour inside, just sitting there in sheepish silence and then went out and did not talk about it at all.

“You must be Carrie,” the priest says, shaking her out of her reverie. He is about their age and smiles while introducing himself as Yevgeny's friend from school and the military service. She recalls Yevgeny mentioning him, but not very often, as he never seemed to speak much about other people in his life. “It is very nice to meet you. I always wanted to meet a sorceress," the priest says with a glimpse of humor in his eyes.

"Not a good time, Andrey. Cut the jokes," Yevgeny says flatly, but his eyes are smiling and Carrie finds herself intrigued.

"A sorceress?" She prompts, squinting in cautious amusement once they are inside the church.

"You can tell when someone you've known for thirty five years falls under a spell," the priest says with a smile, glancing at Carrie over his shoulder while leading the way across a corridor. "It's especially amusing when it happens to people like Zhenya, who are certain it won't happen to them."

Carrie frowns in feigned confusion, already suspecting the answer. "Wait. Who is Zhenya?"

"Did you really have to?" Yevgeny mutters, giving the priest a half-hearted glare.

“You didn't know?” Andrey stifles a laugh while moving a cabinet to reveal a door in the wall. "That's the diminutive form of his name. His mom used to call him that when we were children. He hated it."

Having produced a key from his pocket, Yevgeny comes up to the door and opens it. "Still do. Don't use it," he says warningly, giving Carrie a serious look that makes her smile.

"Would you like a cup of tea? Or anything else? I know it's 2am, but maybe I could get you something to drink or eat?" Andrey offers.

"No, thank you," Carrie shakes her head with a smile. "I think we're okay for now," she looks at Yevgeny who reaches for her hand and pulls her toward what turns out to be a narrow staircase.

"We'll stay until morning and then we'll see," Yevgeny says, keeping his arm around her, stopping her from walking down the stairs first. "Thank you."

Andrey nods with a smile and leaves after wishing them a good night.

"I think I can walk down the stairs all by myself," Carrie protests when it seems that Yevgeny apparently intends to hold her hand all the way down.

"It's a steep staircase," he insists with a faint, lopsided smile, bringing her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss over knuckles.

"What is this place anyway? I mean apart from the obvious."

"Well," arriving at the bottom of the stairs, Yevgeny reaches out to turn on the lights which to Carrie's astonishment brighten a rather large room, section by section. "I'd like to think about it as a… private command center."

Despite being located underground, the room is surprisingly warm, and after helping Carrie out of her coat, Yevgeny enters a numeric combination on a keypad placed next the light switch, and smiles when Carrie continues looking around in wordless amazement. When the main computer starts, the remaining monitors placed on two walls in the room begin loading. In the back of the room, there is also what looks like a modest living space with a bed, a couple of closets and a kitchenette.

"Come on, let me show you," he says, leading her to a large chair in front of a set of fifteen screens blocked together in three rows.

After sitting down, he pulls her into his lap, while Carrie's eyes follow the data and images appearing on the screens. She used to dream of having something like that in her basement, back when she was in primary school. She once gathered various electronic appliances from around the house and pretended to be in charge of, well, _everything_ , which was fun until Maggie stormed in looking for her radio set and hairdryer.

"Who knows about this place?" Carrie asks, amazed by how detailed the maps are, the quality of satellite images, the real time monitoring over such vast areas.

"Now you do," Yevgeny replies, leaning in.

Sliding her arms around his neck without averting her eyes from the screens, she smiles when he focuses on kissing her neck instead of explaining to her what they are looking at.

"Don't stop but… what is this grid on the left?" She asks, running her fingers through his hair.

"Air traffic in the area from the last two weeks," he says, glancing at the screen and then shifting his eyes to her. “Here is the street view,” he takes her hand in his and shows her how to navigate the system. “You can go to any street. The available image and sound resources are here. “You can zoom in, but it does not always work well,” he explains when she gives him a questioning look, which turns into an astonished one when he demonstrates how this feature works.

“When did you set this up?” She asks with an undeniable trace of admiration in her tone. “How?” She does not even try not to sound enthusiastic, even though she probably should be somewhat dismayed.

“Savings,” he says with a wink, tucking some strands of hair behind her ear.

She did notice during their five years together that he was not a big spender, but he did not seem particularly thrifty either, always generous when it came to her or presents for Frannie, Ruby, and Josie. But she always figured he just did not care for money very much, not that he had a secret project going on.

“Besides, the infrastracture is really not that extensive,” he continues, clearly enjoying her wonderment. “It's mostly what you see,” he says, glancing around. “I set up everything myself and as for data sources...” He trails off, squinting into the distance and he does not have to finish the sentence for her to know that in addition to available to him Russian intelligence resources, he must have gained accesses to international resources as well, and not in any legitimate ways.

No wonder a two-minute phone call was enough for him to get a lead on Max, Carrie thinks, her loving amazement suddenly interrupted by the chilling thought, along with the memory of Dar Adal's insinuations.

For a few moments, her attention is drawn to Yevgeny changing the view to their hotel and she frowns at the sight of a crowd surrounding it, and also the Afghan national armed forces having apparently arrived there by now as well.

“I can't believe this is about me,” she says tonelessly.

Yevgeny tilts his head to the side, taking a moment to study her face, interpret her tone. “What is it, Carrie?” He asks gently, and she feels a rush of guilt for even contemplating bringing that up. But perhaps there is no other way to clear this up.

“What was that meeting about?” She asks in a low voice, shifting her gaze away from the screens to look at him. “With G'ulom, before the helicopter crash?” With her arm around his neck, she sounds merely curious, still absently running her fingers through his hair.

“Are you asking me if I shot down a helicopter with two Presidents on board? Weren't you the one who believed from the start and proved later on that it was an accident?” He asks, giving her a slightly incredulous look, which somehow emboldens her to press on.

“Yes, well, about that. Dar Adal says it's beyond doubt that someone tampered with the mechanics and that caused the helicopter to crash. They ran some additional tests and that was the conclusion,” she says with a sigh, for a moment regretting she started talking about that at all and wishing she could just kiss him and change the subject, a rather worrisome method of dealing with problems, which lately started occurring to her as the preferred one more and more often. “I'm not asking you if you shot the helicopter down. But... maybe G'ulom ordered it, after all, and you knew about it?” She blurts out, her almost careless tone probably not consistent with her actual words, but she is not sure how to make such a question sound right and entirely free of accusatory undertones.

Tilting his head backwards, Yevgeny looks at her with a barely perceptible smile and she thinks that perhaps they should not be having such conversations while she is sitting on his lap.

“What?” Carrie asks impatiently, squinting, when she realizes he is apparently in no hurry to say anything. After a moment of consideration she slides off his lap to stand up. “Just don't tell me that you can't tell me,” she says with a huff.

“I will tell you,” he says, rising to his feet as well, his eyes fixed on her, and she finds it impossible to look away. “But first tell me, what would you do if I told you I did it?”

Her forehead creasing in thought, she wraps her arms around her. “I wouldn't _do_ anything,” she says truthfully, but her own immediate reply seems to aggravate her. “Is that what you want me to say? Admit that I wouldn't do anything with that, because-” She stops in mid-sentence, drawing a hasty breath.

“Because?” He prompts, his eyes boring into hers with sudden intensity.

It is late, she is tired, and tonight he saved her life again, so she decides to indulge him, trying not to think if it is the truth or not.

“Because I love you more than I love my country.”

For a moment she feels blind and deaf, as if she is about to lose consciousness, but the sensation goes away when she notices the surprisingly unaffected look on his face, which makes sense a moment later when he speaks again, his words indicating that he apparently thinks she did not really mean what she said.

“Do you think this is what I want you to say? Or feel? That this is some kind of a power struggle? That I want to... triumph over you by bringing you to such a point? Assuming it's even possible.”

She stares at him, astounded, not sure by what exactly or perhaps just by everything at once, all these connected, contradictory thoughts. By the realization that the world did not end when she said that. That it would not be her ultimate defeat if she really felt that. But most of all, by his words expressing acceptance if it never happened.

On an impulse that is impossible to stop, she kisses him, and his arms lock around her, crushing her against him as he kisses her back, feverishly. Cupping his face in her hands, she feels his lips tremble against hers when he whispers.

“I'm not trying to break you or change you.”

“I know,” she whispers back, earnestly, running her fingertips all over his face. “I know.” She feels like she might not know it before, but she does now, and this dizzying realization makes her smile through the tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

His forehead falls against hers and he mirrors her attempt to smile. “But sometimes I just wish you could see what I see, feel what I feel.” He hugs her tight, burying his face in her hair.

She nods, wrapping her arms around him. “I know, me too.” Closing her eyes, she focuses on the warmth emanating from him, his breath on her skin.

“That meeting with G'ulom was about the deal he later walked out from,” Yevgeny says under his breath after a longer moment of silence. “The same that Jalal Haqqani agreed to and now Nafaz is threatening to disclose.”

Carrie opens her eyes and slowly draws back to look at him, her eyes darting between his, wandering anxiously around his face with alertness she feels she does not need to hide anymore.

“I didn't order that helicopter to be shot down and I don't think G'ulom did,” Yevgeny continues before she has a chance to ask about the deal. “But if it really wasn't an accident, considering the limited number of people who had access to that machine, maybe... maybe it was a sabotage?”

“A sabotage?” Carrie blinks, startled by the idea.

“Surely there must have been some people at the White House who didn't like the idea of a peace deal?”

Biting her lip, she cannot decide if this kaleidoscopic nature of their relationship is something she finds frustrating or a little too thrilling, as she cannot help wondering if his comment is meant to be disruptive or helpful.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she tilts her head to the side. “What is this infamous deal all about?”

He smirks a little at her change of subject. Propping her chin with his hand and brushing his thumb over her lips he asks, his smirk brightening into a warm smile. “What do I get in return if I tell you?”

There is something endlessly comforting about him not trying to backtrack and she starts feeling hopeful again. _“Couldn't we do better?”_ She loves her country and he loves his, but just as they seem to have come to an understanding that they are not trying to compete for affection with their respective countries, maybe it is also possible to agree that the right and wrong is not country-specific.

She does her best to keep a completely straight face when she asks matter-of-factly. “You mean that in terms of intel or sex?”

He laughs under his breath, and she tries not to smile, but fails. He kisses her, and then looks at her, holding her face in his hands.

“I mean that in terms of you telling me what sort of information you were transmitting to Saul through that bookstore. And don't say you can't tell me,” he adds, narrowing his eyes at her in a playful warning.

With a sigh, Carrie slips out of his arms and slowly walks across the room, as if pondering something. Turning around, she slumps down onto the edge of the bed. It seems like a bad idea. In fact it is probably an unacceptable idea. Then again, she has done so many unacceptable things in her life that one more could be of little consequence. Especially since the gain could exceed the loss. The information she sent has already been sent anyway and the Russia-Taliban deal is apparently only just about to come into being.

Holding his gaze from across the room she nods once. “Okay.”

He blinks and by that way his smile fades into a serious expression she can tell that he probably did not really expect her agree to this bizarrely appropriate exchange. After taking a look at the screens showing what is happening at the hotel, where the situation does not seem to either improve or deteriorate, he walks up to her and sits next to her on the bed.

“You first,” she says a little amused when after a few moments of silence she realizes he is waiting for her to begin.

He looks away with a smile and then catches her off guard by pulling her deeper onto the bed, tossing her onto the pillows and hovering over her. “So you wouldn't run away when it's your turn,” he explains, having her trapped underneath him and pressing a light kiss to her nose.

'”Do I have anywhere to run?” She asks with a weak snort. “I'm a roadblock to the peace deal and a threat to some secret agreement. I'm as good as dead.”

“Don't say that,” he says with a frown. “It's not true.” He lowers his voice, propping his head on his elbow, his eyes boring softly into hers. “As for that agreement. It is about storage of weapons in exchange for some of them."

She turns onto her side, finding the description suspiciously underwhelming. She repeats the words in her head. Once, twice, until they start to make sense and properly terrify her. "What kind of weapons?" Reaching out, she presses her fingers across his mouth to keep him from saying that he cannot tell her or that he told her enough.

He takes her hand in his, starts caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. "Biological and chemical weapons," he says under his breath, looking at her hand and only after a moment shifting his gaze to the dismayed look on her face.

Abruptly pulling herself to a sitting position, Carrie gives him a disbelieving look. "You're going to give the Taliban access to weapons of mass destruction?"

Yevgeny sits up as well, takes her hands in his to keep her from moving away. "It's a precaution, Carrie. For defense purposes. They will actually be safer here. That was your idea,” he adds, pulling her into his arms.

She widens her eyes at him. "My idea?"

Sliding his fingers into her hair, he rests his forehead against hers. "The five year strategic plan for the GRU? You put that in there. I kept it."

She straightens up, blinking in astonishment. "What I put in there was reducing the number of such weapons!"

"It is a reduced number," he tightens his grip on her shoulders when she tries to move away. “Carrie.”

He looks at her almost apologetically, but she is too upset to think about the consequences of what she is going to say. She was going to tell him about the information she was sending to Saul at the beginning, the less important, less sensitive data. But on an impulse she changes her mind and decides to tell him what matters more, because she is angry and it seems only fair to make him angry too.

"I sent some cryptographic materials to Saul."

He looks non-plussed as he tilts his head to the side. "What?"

"Cryptographic materials related to weapons of mass destruction. That's what I was most recently sending to Saul. Just raw data and my own guesses, but… that's what it was."

He is studying het face in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?" He shakes her a little, her hair falling over her shoulders in greater disarray. "Where did you even get them? How?"

She feels almost proud that he apparently really did not believe Mirov when he told him about his suspicions regarding that. "Does it matter now?" She asks, her eyes shining in defiance.

"Of course it does! Do you know what will happen if we get caught?"

"We?" She slides her hands over his shoulders without breaking eye contact with him.

He swallows hard, lowers his voice, pulls her closer into his arms. "Do you think anyone will believe I didn't know?"

She cups his face in her hands with a fervent smile. "I have an idea.” She presses her lips to his and waits. She is not off her meds but it feels as if she was, and all the people in her life were always startled and horrified by her feverish outbursts. But she _knows_ he would not be. She waits for him to kiss her back and smiles against his lips when he does. “Before we came here to Kabul, you said you wanted to give this thought a chance. We could do it now,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper. “Now it's the perfect time, it's the only time."

"What are you talking about?" He asks with sudden gentleness, his breathing labored, his hands beginning to roam all over her as if he wants to make sure that she is safe, here, not going anywhere.

"Is Leo safe with your parents? Are they home?"

"No, I told them to stay somewhere else,” he replies quietly. “Just in case. You never know what may happen on such a trip,” he says with a ghost of a mirthless smile flitting across his face, cups her face in his hands, his eyes shifting back and forth between her eyes and her lips.

“Okay,” she breathes, feeling a rush of excitement wash over her. She kisses him to calm herself down enough to speak. The words are sizzling in her head, swirling around her mind, a crowd of colorful flames, unstoppable, inevitable, and so, so, so clear, their syncopated rhythm, their cacophonic melody that suddenly makes all the sense in the world. She picks them, one by one, turns them into bright neon stars. "You will call the Kremlin, tell them you'll be going with me to the US under the pretext of saving my life. Tell them I kept in touch with Saul by sending him intel, approved by you. Then we'll go the American Embassy. I'll tell them you were helping me with gathering the information I was transmitting to Saul. To Russia, I'll be a defector recruited by you and to the US you'll be a defector recruited by me.” She kisses him ardently before looking him in the eye. “I'll play your handler and you'll play mine.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No idea how to summarize this chapter, so I'm just going to take this opportunity to wish you a wonderful weekend! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and/or commenting and/or leaving kudos! It means the world to me to know that you are enjoying this story ❤

Yevgeny says neither yes nor no to her idea, but Carrie can feel he is thinking about it when he kisses her. The kiss is frantic and his hands impatient to touch her, coarse and warm against her skin. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him over her as they fall onto the bed without breaking the kiss, and she feels a surging sense of euphoria at the thought that if he says yes, if he decides to follow her over the edge into that blinding darkness, then this, this will not end.

She tilts her head to the side when he leans down to nuzzle her neck. Running her hands over his back, she closes her eyes, watching the details of her plan, like perfectly cut-out tiles, fall into place as if of their own accord. There are many aspects of this wild design that are difficult to predict. But she always feels so invincible in his arms that nothing seems too daunting right now when he trails kisses all over her face, slowly moves his hands up her sides, waiting for her to open her eyes to meet his blazing gaze.

He kisses her when she does, and she smiles into the kiss, or maybe just in her head, it does not matter much, it is all the same, as every fibre of her body fills with happiness, exhilaration coursing through her veins, reforming every thought, healing every memory she has. A thought flashes through her mind that making love to him feels like falling in love over and over again, every time.

"I've been wondering about something…" He whispers with his mouth near her ear, his breath ghosting over her skin when he speaks.

She slides her fingers into his hair. "As long as you can talk without stopping..." she murmurs and he smiles, kissing the corner of her mouth.

"When did you decide to go on... with your work?" The question catches her off guard, but his sincerely curious tone makes it impossible for her to give him anything but the true answer.

"Ramallah," she whispers, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder before looking into his eyes again.

The surprised expression on his face quickly changes into a jubilant one. "That's good," he says, leaning down to kiss her. "Because I thought…" he goes on to explain when she smiles up at him a little confused, "that maybe it was because something about our life, about me, disappointed you."

She cradles his face in her hands. "No," she says quietly, firmly. " _No_. But I just couldn't… can't let go despite how happy I am with you."

He nods, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb, his eyes radiant with a smile that lights up his face. "I understand."

"I hope you do, because we're about to take this mess to a whole new level," she says with a hint of humor in her voice, although her body is almost rigid in solemn anticipation, and she knows he must feel it too.

She does not want to miss it, the moment he decides to go along with her unimaginable idea, this once in a lifetime opportunity which carries the greatest risk. But all other options seem inconsequential and inadequate, and she knows that this ultimate double-edged sword is what they both have always been tempted to pry from the stone anyway.

He still does not reply, but his eyes sparkle with warmth and something else that she tries not to take for granted, this resilient devotion which makes her feel so safe, that she is sure no one but them will ever understand.

They may agree to pretend being, to their respective countries, each other's handlers, but whether they would really not try to become them is another matter. And yet now it feels more like a joint stratagem than a lethal threat, and she cannot escape this alluring, ever-present conviction that as long as they are together, they will be okay.

Clutching his shoulders, she holds his gaze as invisible stars collide and burn, his lips scorching hers when he kisses her before rolling over and gathering her securely into his arms.

"Are you ready for this?" He asks in between labored breaths. "No secrets. No lies. That's the only way. It will not work, they will quash us otherwise." His tone is decisive and pragmatic, and she realizes he must have agreed to her idea the moment she spelled it out.

She looks up, snuggling against him, her heart beginning to beat furiously in her chest. "I know," she whispers, panting. "Are you?"

It occurs to her that his plan may differ from hers. It probably does. Maybe this is why he did not give her an immediate reply. He had to think it over, work out his own version of her preposterous, unexpected idea. She was so often worried about him being a step ahead, and he usually was, so it makes sense that he would try getting into that position again. Resting her cheek on Yevgeny's shoulder, Carrie feels somewhat gleeful at the thought that maybe she managed to shuffle the cards a little, and maybe now it is his turn to ponder the possibility of her being a step ahead.

"Yes," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She wonders what they should be called, these unsaid thoughts between them. They are not lies or secrets. They are not meant to inflict pain or cause harm. They are not tokens of rivalry or distrust. They just _are_. This strange phenomenon that they have in common. Too many multifaceted thoughts, myriads of potent connections impossible to describe or explain, an inherent need for paving a path, through the fire, through the rain, through whatever comes their way, toward what they deem best for their homelands.

"You didn't show me everything here yet," Carrie says after a pause without opening her eyes.

"I'll show you in the morning before we leave," Yevgeny murmurs into her hair, tightening his embrace around her. "Try to get some sleep. It's outrageously late."

She smiles, reaching for his hand and intertwining her fingers with his. "Do you think…"

She trails off and he prompts her to continue by brushing his lips over the side of her temple.

"Do you think we can really do better?" She asks pensively, thinking back to their first kiss, how in hindsight, everything that was said between them then feels even more momentous.

For the first time she lets her thoughts advance to the next stage of her plan and she finds herself overwhelmed by the sudden realization that it is not just going to be about getting and sharing information, and making things happen, but first of all about deciding what is best and making things happen in such a way that would be beneficial for both of their countries, and the entire world. When put into words, it sounds not only imprudently ambitious but downright insane, but she feels so close to this enchanting thought as if it has always been an innate part of her.

"Not better.” Fondling her hand in his, he presses a kiss to her cheek and smiles against her skin. "Together we can do the very best."

xxxhomelandxxx

When Carrie wakes up, Yevgeny seems ready to go, but assures her they do not need to hurry. He surprises her with a set of clothes he managed to take for her from the hotel, and she is glad she will not have to saunter into the embassy in a robe.

As promised, he shows her the remaining functionalities of his self-proclaimed command center and she is quite disconsolate that they have to leave without taking any actual advantage of it, but only until he tells her about a coded remote access to the systems rooted here, which she finds utterly impressive and a little disturbing... in a disturbingly thrilling way.

It is past noon when she finally starts getting dressed and she suddenly wonders why he has not called the Kremlin yet. It would probably be good to settle that before heading for the American Embassy. "Do you know what you're going to say when you call the Kremlin?" she asks almost conversationally, buttoning her blouse,

"I already did," he says casually, pecking her on the cheek while crossing the room. “A few hours ago.”

She freezes with her hands half-way through the buttons, her eyes darting to him in surprise. She was rather looking forward to listening to this particular conversation, to knowing exactly what he would say and hear in response.

"What did they say?" Carrie asks with a small frown, certain that it was not an accident that he arranged for that particular conversation to happen while she was sleeping. "Did they believe you?"

Raising his eyebrows, Yevgeny gives her a small smile. "Does it seem unlikely to you I could pull that off?" He asks, walking up to her.

"It depends on what you mean by ' _that_ '. I didn't hear the conversation," she says sagaciously, squinting a little. It feels like an improvement, this spontaneous attempt to immediately confront him. Yet she doubts it will lead to a sense of certainty. Nonetheless, it feels good to at least voice her suspicions right away.

"Are you worried about what I told them?" He asks in a similarly straightforward manner, with a glimpse of amusement in his eyes, which makes her think that perhaps she is overreacting, after all.

"I'm sure you told them what you had to tell them.” Holding his gaze, she resumes buttoning her blouse.

Reaching out, he starts unfastening the buttons she has already buttoned up, and she snorts weakly, trying to push his hands away.

"I thought we agreed on what we were going to say?" He says, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest.

He does have a point, but at the same time, she is still sure that he did not include her in that conversation on purpose.

"We did," she says, sliding her hands over his shoulders. "But I still expected to hear it. Which I'm sure you knew," she adds bluntly, kissing him when he presses his lips to hers.

"At the risk of pushing it on the trust front..." he says with a glimpse of a smile in his eyes, kissing her between the words. "Believe me it was better that way."

"Great. But you're not going to listen to my exposition at the embassy either," she retorts challengingly, cupping his face in her hands.

"I know," he says with a wink, and she gives him an exasperated smile. Glancing at his watch he places his hand on her cheek, his expression becoming a little more serious. "My parents will call in five minutes. I thought we could see Lev before we leave."

Carrie nods after a brief moment of surprise, feeling like perhaps she should have thought of that too. "That's good. I'll be glad to see him." It seems like an awkward underestimation, especially since she does miss her son, and even feels a dull pain in her chest at the thought it might be months before they could really see him again. But still it is her default combative mood which prevails, keeps her thoughts occupied elsewhere, which is probably why she did not think about arranging such a call herself.

Yevgeny nods with a small smile, but then she gives him a questioning look when his smile turns into a frown, as if he was struck by a sudden thought.

"Carrie, I... I did switch your pills," he blurts out, slowly sliding his fingers out of her hair, letting them linger on her cheek before drawing his hand away.

"What?" Carrie stares at him, perplexed, only after a moment realizing what he means. "Why?" She asks what seems to be a necessary, reasonable question, even though she cannot find it in herself to be upset. Maybe it is too irrelevant now. Or maybe deep down she just knew it all along. Even though back then he said he did not do it. Perhaps it was a lie not much different from her choosing to believe him.

"I wanted to have a child with you," Yevgeny says in a low voice, his eyes wandering slowly around her face as if her features are a riddle he tries to solve, and she realizes he often looks at her this way. "I wanted… I wanted to wrap all of these labels around you, so you'd be... more mine. I'd look at you when you were asleep, and think that you are my wife, the mother of my son, a resident of my country," he says the words under his breath, almost carefully, and she feels shivers run through her at the warm reverence in his tone, as if saying these phrases out loud was somehow blasphemous. "I'm sorry."

It may just be an impression, but she feels as if she is looking at him the same way he is looking at her. It is not a new thought, that in their own very different ways they are so similar, like twin mirror images of the same ideal, but it still dawns on her with the strength of an epiphany.

"I think it's hardly the worst thing either of us has ever done,” she says with a sigh, brushing a few strands of hair off his forehead and smiles faintly at the look of relief in his eyes. She thinks she likes the sound, all the implications of these thoughts too. That he is her husband, the father of her son, and soon to be, hopefully, a resident of her country. “But thank you for telling me about it. Are you fresh out of secrets or is there anything else you'd like to share?” She asks in a slightly lighter tone, locking her arms around his neck. It seems to her that maybe it really is true that all secrets always come out, eventually, this way or another, and she wonders if they could ever come to that secrets-free point, and if they did, would it be a new beginning or the end of everything?

“I think that's it for now,” he says with a small, lopsided smile, leaning down to kiss her.

The buzzing of the phone interrupts them and they share a smile.

“What are we going to tell your parents?” Carrie asks, fastening the remaining buttons of her blouse, and narrowing her eyes at Yevgeny. “Unless you already had that conversation too.”

Biting back a chuckle, he shakes his head, presses a kiss to her lips, and jests before accepting the video call. "I tried, but they said they'd rather talk to you."

xxxhomelandxxx

The streets seem eerily quiet, Carrie thinks, as they are speeding across the city, first on the motorcycle, then in a car after making all the arrangements with the embassy over the phone. Saul is supposed to be there before them. Based on their short conversation on the phone, she cannot tell just yet what he thinks of such a twist happening virtually overnight. She doubts he is going to stand in her way or cause problems, especially since he himself brought this subject up yesterday, then again he proved capable of being obstinately opposed to her hazardous ideas before, and she is not entirely sure how he is going to react now.

Yevgeny is sitting with her in the back of the car, discussing the route with Vitaly who is driving, while she reaches our for the phone to check the latest news, wondering if the hotel is still surrounded by the Taliban. For some reason, they did not discuss this with Yevgeny in the morning before leaving the church, and she was so preoccupied with their newly designed future and with what to do next that she almost stopped thinking about her life still being on the line.

However, before she can start thinking about that again, her train of thought is interrupted, when upon opening an internet browser, she is dumbstruck by one of the headlines, completely puzzled by the announcement that apparently following a “fake news-inspired riot”, an agreement was reached between the Afghan Government, the Taliban, and foreign forces present in the country, and that a peace deal was signed this morning immediately after the decree to release the remaining Taliban prisoners had been signed by the new Afghan President as a gesture of goodwill.

“Yevgeny...” she starts, tugging on his sleeve before looking at him, and when she does, she frowns at a knowing expression on his face. “What is that?” She asks, showing him the article on the screen.

He shrugs. “I thought a surprise like that might cheer you up,” he says, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“But.. what is this? How did it happen?” She widens her eyes at him in astonishment. She does not want to believe it yet. It seems too good to be true and she reads the words again to make sure she did not confuse some vague promises for the future with what has already happened.

“Apparently, there was some strange rumor that an American girl shot Jalal Haqqani and both the new Afghan President and the new Taliban leader fell for that at first,” Yevgeny says matter-of-factly.

“There is a lot of fake news in the world these days,” Vitaly observes in a similar tone, smirking.

Shifting her eyes between them, Carrie is a little annoyed by the amused looks on their faces, not to mention all the grim associations she has with fake news in general, but under the circumstances the negative feelings cannot last very long, and what takes over is the overwhelming sense of joy at the realization that the peace deal, that peace deal she has sacrificed so much for, which has been on her mind for so many years, has really happened. It was done.

She wants to ask about the details, suspecting that it must have been something Yevgeny discussed with President Volkov during that call in which she did not participate. But she finds it hard to speak, surprised by how moved she is by what happened, and feeling almost on the verge of tears.

“It's yours, Carrie,” Yevgeny says quietly, leaning toward her and propping her chin in his hand. “It's all because of you, this peace deal. And I'm sorry it's yet another victory you can't take credit for, at least not publicly.”

“It's not all because of me,” she says with a smile. “If it is at all.” She shrugs with a sigh. “In any case, I don't think our line of work ever allows for taking credit for anything. And I don't really mind that.”

He nods. “I know. But still.” He tucks her hair behind her ear and kisses her on the cheek.

xxxhomelandxxx

When they arrive at the embassy, Carrie is in a much better mood than she expected to be before she found out about the peace deal. She thought they would be scrambling out of the ashes into another fray, but instead they seem to be moving from a mission that could be marked as complete into a new one. Of course the peace deal was not the end of the road, just the beginning of a new arrangement with many issues yet to be settled. Among them, the agreement Yevgeny told her about the day before, regarding the storage of weapons of mass destruction. She wonders how that factored into the peace deal, but she hopes she will be able to find out soon enough.

It is already evening when they arrive and now it makes sense to her why they left the church so late. Yevgeny wanted to wait for the peace deal to be signed, so she could learn about it on their way here.

“Hi.”

And even Mike Dunne is not going to ruin her mood, Carrie thinks, when surprisingly he is the first person to greet them when after the security check they enter the building.

“I'm sure you've heard,” Mike says, shifting his eyes between them and Carrie glances at Yevgeny who looks at Mike in mild annoyance.

“About the peace deal?” Carrie offers, hoping that Saul would soon show up, so she would not need to be guessing what he or maybe someone at the embassy communicated to Mike and perhaps to some other people too. She wonders if Mike now thinks that her entire stay in Moscow was a planned scheme, which probably would not be a bad thing.

“Yes, that, and that I'm no longer a station chief.” He pauses long enough to gauge her reaction, but she just gives him a blank stare, so he continues. “So from what I've heard, maybe we'll meet in Washington.” And with that he leaves, making sure to shoot Yevgeny a glare that Carrie supposes is meant to be vaguely menacing.

“Don't say anything,” Carrie mutters with a sigh, giving Yevgeny a half-heartedly pointed look, inferring from the expression on his face that he is about to comment on the eclectic nature of the White House staff or something along those lines.

Yevgeny narrows his eyes at her in a smile, and they are soon approached by a couple of officers, while at the same time Carrie also notices Saul who heads their way from the other side of the hallway, after exchanging a few words with whom she is rather stunned to recognize as Dar Adal. She is not sure if it is a good or a bad thing he is here, but she guesses that it is not too strange considering that during one of their conversations in Moscow he alluded to being in President Hayes' good graces.

After explaining the agenda, Saul asks to talk to her while Yevgeny is invited to get acquainted with the protocol while waiting for the initial review panel.

Once they are alone in one of the offices, Saul gives her a skeptical look she is not sure she likes. Maybe it would be naïve to hope that the cracks in their relationship would get instantenously mended upon her arrival here. But she at least expected a slightly more cordial welcome, especially in the context of the peace deal at last coming into being. However, regardless of his possible thoughts on that, Saul does not seem inclined to discuss it right now. Instead, he starts by asking what is going on.

"I'm sorry, wasn't it your idea?" Carrie asks defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. She is suddenly reminded of this outdated need to explain herself or her actions, but she pushes the unpleasant sensation away, telling herself that it is only a disguise of sorts, and that her actual intentions and actions have been for some time now and will continue to be in the future, her own.

Saul snorts mirthlessly. "We talked about this _hours_ ago, and it didn't look like you were about to enter the final stage of that possible arrangement. Yet now I'm supposed to believe you convinced him to defect on the spot?"

"On the spot?” Carrie widens her eyes at him and does not even blink. “We've been married for five years."

Saul looks at her in silence for a few seconds. “Do you know what you're doing? Tell me. Because I'm not actually sure what you're up to. But if you're certain-” He trails off with a self-derisive sigh and runs his hand across his face in a gesture of exasperation. “If _you_ _know_ what you're doing, I'll help you. But I'm not going to sign off on this if you only _think_ you've got this.”

Drawing a sharp intake of breath, Carrie nods, her expression as serious as his. “I know what I'm doing,” she says in an effortlessly resolute voice.

She knows what she is doing. Except that what she is doing is not exactly what she wants Saul to think she is doing. He would not understand it. He would not believe that it could work. That two people could leverage all they know, all they could do, for the benefit of all countries, not just one or two. Even in her own thoughts, after examining and reexamining this idea over and over again, it still sounds like some mad, absurd dream of grandeur, even though it could not be further from that. It is just an attempt to make things right, to make the world better, safer, brighter, for everyone.

But she cannot tell Saul that.

xxxhomelandxxx

"And what are your plans in case your relationship with Carrie Mathison falls apart?"

Dar Adal's dispassionate tone would be enough to aggravate most people, and Saul finds it all the more interesting that if there is any trace of emotion in Yevgeny's face evoked by Dar's words, it seems to be confusion. Unlike in case of questions concerning his motivation, his political motives and intentions, questions which he answered with textbook precision, very comprehensively at times, he becomes more reticent when it comes to personal issues.

"What do you mean?" Squinting, Yevgeny props his chin on his hand in a slightly nonchalant manner.

His voice has not changed over the course of the last four hours, it is still laced with the same amount of patronizing patience and Saul keeps trying to decide if they are about to approve the most valuable asset in the CIA's history or staring the ultimate Trojan horse in the eye.

Dar shrugs. "What if she moves on to another man?"

If he had any doubts before, Saul is now sure Dar's goal during this last scheduled hour is not an actual evaluation of any kind, but getting a reaction out of Yevgeny.

And it is probably the closest he can get to that when Yevgeny blinks, as if struck, before stating in a voice that is low and hostile, but calm. "May I remind you you're talking about my wife."

"People are filing for divorces all the time," Dar observes non-committally.

"Well, we won't be doing that."

Dar gives him a thin smile. "I'd expect most married people believe that."

"We won't be getting a divorce," Yevgeny repeats coolly, glaring at Dar.

It is an act, Saul decides, Yevgeny's demeanor, at least to some degree, but it also seems to be conveniently in sync with what he apparently really thinks. And this bizarre fairy tale still puzzles Saul, makes him wonder which part of this entire situation he can really believe.

"What about the child? It is in Russia, from what I understand?" Dar continues, undeterred.

"Yes," Yevgeny confirms with a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "We would like him to come to us when it becomes feasible."

"It might take a while, Dar says offhandedly. "Although it may be safer for the child, considering Carrie's history of child endangerment."

Saul clenches his jaw, upset at Dar for bringing that up, even though it is a secret of Polichinelle by now.

"Is eavesdropping on private conversations your commonly preferred source of information?" Yevgeny asks aloofly, tilting his head to the side.

Perhaps he should have gleamed that earlier from Carrie's behavior and words, but it is only now that this occurs to Saul as something possibly true that Yevgeny would not use her as a means to an end or to safeguard himself at her expense. He also makes a mental note to remember that Yevgeny's apparent protectiveness of her could prove problematic.

"A private conversation?" Dar Adal repeats, raising his eyebrows. "Between CIA and GRU officers?"

"Carrie wasn't a CIA employee at the time of that conversation," Yevgeny retorts.

"I think it's too late to discuss the moral mandate for recording that meeting,” Dar notes acerbically. “I'm curious, though. What were the circumstances of her telling you about it in the first place? Was it during an interrogation?"

"I doubt this is relevant to this conversation," Yevgeny says flatly and Saul wonders how Carrie managed to recruit him? Did she really do it? How did she break through all of these layers to discern the truth?

"Everything is relevant to this conversation," Dar replies immediately, his eyes boring sharply into Yevgeny's impenetrable gaze.

_He is breathing in the scent of her hair, kissing the blindingly sunny tresses which are falling over her shoulders in slight disarray. Her hand is clasped in his as they are sitting on a fallen tree in the middle of their birch forest, out of sight and away from the grayish buildings. He wants to kiss her, can't stop thinking about kissing her, but he can't, not here, not in this grim establishment, not as long as she is confined to this place like a prisoner of war. Here it would have to be her call, and so he waits, curiously, for something that may never come. And it doesn't even matter, not much anyway, as long as he can sit beside her, hold her hand, brush his lips over the golden threads of her hair. He doesn't even understand it very well. This strange, delirious state, and her name, Carrie… Carrie… Carrie... on constant repeat in his head._

_"I once almost drowned my daughter," she says, suddenly, her eyes fixed on_ _a_ _small stream nearby, and he feels a twinge of shame at the realization that he has not noticed her drifting off in her thoughts. Turning her head to look at him, her eyes brimming with tears, she says in a low, toneless voice. "I slipped her head under the water, and-" She chokes on the words, on her tears._

_Her face contorting in a grimace, she gasps when he hushes her, so soothingly, and pulls her into his arms, gently brushing the tears off her cheeks._

_"It's okay. I'm here. What happened? Tell me." He hugs her close, caresses her hair. She is invincible, so fearless, so brave, yet her lithe body feels so fragile in his arms, and all he wants to do is shield her from all those ghosts outside and inside._

"Actually," Yevgeny says is steady voice, tucking the memory away in his mind, "as Mr. Berenson can certainly vouchsafe, everything that happened in Russia during those seven months was signed off as off limits, so I don't have to answer this question."

"You're right. In fact, you don't have to answer any questions, except that if you don't, we may not be able to conclude this arrangement."

"That'd be unfortunate. For you."

Dar narrows his eyes at him. "Is that so?"

"I'm afraid this conversation will need to wait until we land in the US,” Yevgeny says with a brief, artificial smile.

"This may take a while. Perhaps Carrie could leave tomorrow, but-"

"We're not leaving separately.”

"You may need to," Dar insists stiffly.

"We will not. We'll be taking off together or not at all." Leaning forward on his elbows, Yevgeny shifts his gaze between Dar and Saul, lowering his voice and endowing it with ominous undertones. "I think you have this whole situation here all wrong. We didn't come here to repent, atone or ask for favors, so perhaps you should quit treating us, especially Carrie, with condescension, as if you were making an effort to be gracious toward us. We don't need to be here. We can walk out of here at any moment and it will be just us well. Maybe even better, if being here or going along with this arrangement should cause Carrie any inconvenience. Don't think for a second I wouldn't do _anything_ to ensure her safety. I'm here because of her, but it's better to have blood than manacles on one's hands, so either you change the tone of this conversation or we're leaving."

"Alright," Saul intervenes before Dar decides to reply. "I think we all need a break. And maybe during the next session we could discuss possible travel arrangements."

"Thank you," Yevgeny says flatly, rising to his feet.

"One last question," Dar says, standing up as well and turning towards Yevgeny when he is already by the door. "How can we know that it's not you who has turned her, and that we're not actually going to let not one but two Russian agents in?"

After pulling the door open, Yevgeny says with a faint, mirthless smile before walking out. "I think this is your job to assess that."

The door closes behind him with a dull thud, and Saul and Dar are silent for a moment waiting for Yevgeny's footsteps to recede.

“So what do you think?” Saul asks when Dar turns toward him.

“What do I think about the GRU Director defecting to the US? You know what I think. Of course we sign off on this. But I also think they're decidedly too snuggly with each other,” Dar scowls. “So if we want to be in control of this arrangement, and it is going to be one hell of a nightmare to monitor, it'd be advisable to introduce some trouble into this paradise, break them up a little. But this you can leave to me,” he adds wryly, grabbing the files from the table. “If we talk to Hayes today, we can get them on a plane by tomorrow.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think starting next week we'll go back to Saturday\Sunday updates, because updating on Fridays is too stressful lol
> 
> As for the chapter summary: family reunions, dating news, and e-mail notifications ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, for all the kudos and comments!!! :)

Looking out of a plane window, Carrie can hardly believe they are really on their way to the US. But what stuns her most, are all the conflicting feelings that suddenly plague her. She is excited at the prospect of everything that awaits them. She is glad to be going back home to the US. But she does not want to think about the last five years as a detour of any sort, and she also finds herself saddened by the thought of leaving their home in Russia behind. Most of all, she dislikes this bitter parallel of Yevgeny being torn away from his country the way she used to be torn away from hers. It feels like some kind of a revenge, even if she never intended for it to be or feel like that.

“You okay, Carrie?”

Yevgeny's voice shakes Carrie out of her reverie and she turns her head to look at him. Her hand is clasped in his and he squeezes it lightly a few times to elicit a smile from her.

“I don't know,” she says under her breath, pressing her cheek to his. “I thought I wouldn't feel so... confused about it.” She shrugs and lowers her voice even more. “I'm trying to decide if I'm going home or away from it and... I don't really know anymore.”

He does not say anything right away and she wonders if he is caught off guard by her honesty or by her words themselves or perhaps he is just thinking what to say.

“I think I lost a sense of home as a place when I had to leave you in that asylum,” he finally says, not at all what she expected to hear. “From that day on, I knew no place would ever feel right on its own.I liked our apartment in Moscow," he adds after a pause. "But it wouldn't be a home, it wouldn't be _anything_ without you. So it doesn't really feel like a loss to me. Just a place where we lived that we had to leave."

Maybe it is because of his somewhat wistful tone of voice that Carrie finds that conclusion sad, despite its romantic undertones. Or maybe it simply is sad, because there is just nothing to be done about it, about not really having a place to call home. Travelling did not bother her in the past. In fact, she liked it very much, but now it feels like a long forgotten routine she no longer enjoys all that much. It suddenly occurs to her that their life in Moscow was the most peaceful time of her life, not because it was calm, but because it was made out of a perfect combination of bliss and danger, and this was apparently an environment in which she thrived.

"It's easy for you to say," Carrie says with a sigh, lacing her arm through his. "I left all of my clothes there and I hate shopping," she says in a mockingly worried tone in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Snorting under his breath, Yevgeny presses a kiss to the side of her face. "If that helps, I can go shopping with you."

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," she says, amused, and thinks that perhaps this is a sentiment that applies to both of them, and not necessarily in connection to a shopping spree only.

xxxhomelandxxx

If there is anything extraordinary about the moment they land, it is that Yevgeny is kissing her when the plane's wheels touch the runway. The jolt is only slight, especially since he has his arm around her, and she leans more toward him, letting the sensation morph into a soothing, thrilling memory.

The airport looks both familiar and not quite, although Carrie cannot put her finger on what exactly, if anything, has actually changed. It is absurdly surprising to realize that life went on while she was gone, that her country could exist without her.

It does not take them a long time to pick a house. After shortlisting just a couple of them, they choose the third townhome they go to see, and move in on the next day. By the time Carrie decides to ask about how they are going to go about picking the furniture, Yevgeny has everything ordered online, so all she needs to do is watch the empty space transform into a more cozy one. They implicitly agree on no plants and do not have much in terms of personal items. It is somewhat comforting to think that maybe their apartment in Moscow will remain intact. After all, the Kremlin is supposed to believe they are here on a mission. She wonders if this belief will be easier to maintain than Saul's tentative endorsement.

Watching Yevgeny, Carrie tries to recall if she was adjusting to her life in Russia with the same ease or if perhaps he is just being more pragmatic about all of it, including hours-long interrogatory meetings and voluntary polygraph tests which he agrees to take because he finds them amusing.

Once or twice it crosses Carrie's mind that he acts as if he had it all rehearsed, as if he was prepared for all of this to happen one day. But she brushes the thought off, and decides it is just him doing what has to be done without unnecessary delay or complaints.

They watch President G'ulom's funeral on TV, just fragments of it, because she does not need to watch the whole thing to know how it ends. This is what she tells Yevgeny and he seems to immediately understand she is not being oversensitive or uncaring. She has just been to enough funerals.

One evening they go to a jazz concert. The room is dark and humid and its scent reminds Carrie of Ramallah. They are sitting in the shadows by the wall at the very back of the room, and kissing through most of it. She feels strangely in sync with everything around her, with him, with the music, with her own thoughts, as if there is a thread connecting all of these elements, the three of them, as if this unique chaos of her, of him, and of jazz makes up one whole.

The first time they go on a long walk around Washington DC, it feels like a date, because he holds her hand, listens to the stories she tells, kisses her from time to time when there happens to be no people nearby. It feels like some strange fog of dull confusion has been lifted off her mind, and after a few weeks Carrie starts breathing more freely, starts feeling happy to be here.

"So… have we been to your favorite spot yet?" Yevgeny asks and she smiles because she can see in his eyes that he knows that they have not.

She takes him to the vicinity of the Capitol. Sitting in the shadow of the dome, they can see the sunlit space before them, like a mysterious field made of stone, a pathway somewhere far enough for the destination to remain out of sight, yet the promise of it feels so reliable and alluring, and it reminds her, always did, that there must be a way, that even a trap is never a trap as long as you keep trying to escape.

It is not something she has ever put into words, mostly because she has never felt the need to explain it to anyone. But with him it is different. She likes telling him what she thinks, likes that he always seems genuinely interested in everything she says, especially those personal thoughts, the only significance of which is that they flitted through her mind at some point in time.

When they walk by The White House, she tells him that at the age of five, she wanted to be the President of the United States. It is just a silly childhood memory, but he does not laugh, and she finds it ridiculously heartwarming when he brushes a few strands of hair off her face and simply says in reply. "You'd be the very best one."

xxxhomelandxxx

During these first weeks, Carrie compiles a list of names of people to call and get in touch with. No one is going to call her first and she needs to know on whom she can count and if any part of any of her networks could be revived or if she will have to build everything back up from scratch.

"What about your sister?" Yevgeny asks after peering at her list for some time. He is standing next to her chair, leaning on his elbows propped on the desk.

Carrie asserts with a grimace that Maggie has nothing to do with their work. She gives Yevgeny a sincerely baffled look, but he just continues looking back at her with a faint smile on his face, and she frowns at the realization of what he is really asking.

"I'll call her… later," she says evasively.

"Later today? Tomorrow?"

"Later," Carrie repeats, rising to her feet, double-checking the list and folding the piece of paper in two.

Yevgeny straightens up, and pulls her into his arms when she turns to walk away. "Carrie."

"I don't think she's dying to hear from me, and it's not a good time anyway. All the meetings, debriefings. We have to settle all the formalities first."

"I hope you don't think I'm going to believe any of these excuses?" He cuts her off, squinting.

"Fine," Carrie huffs. "I don't want to call her right now. I need to… think about it first." Her forehead wrinkling in thought, her eyes dart back to Yevgeny when he cups her face in his hands.

"There is nothing to think about. You should go see your daughter."

She draws a breath, his words making the possibility seem frighteningly real. "It's not that simple," Carrie says tonelessly.

He brushes his lips against hers and she gives him a questioning smile.

"Did that ever stop you?"

She snorts humorlessly. "It's different."

"Not really."

"I _will_ call her. I just don't know when."

"I don't think you should wait to do that."

Rolling her eyes, Carrie glances at her watch. "I have half an hour. Will you stop being annoying if you get laid?"

Yevgeny chuckles under his breath, shakes his head with a grimace of amused exasperation.

"Is that a 'no' or a 'yes'? Clock's ticking," Carrie says matter-of-factly, stifling a smile, and then laughs between kisses when he sweeps her off the floor and into his arms.

xxxhomelandxxx

Maybe it is because she is an expert on Russia or maybe she is just least likely to make her feel uncomfortable, Carrie thinks. They did not get to know each other very well, but having gone through her entire list, Carrie decides that Sandy Langmore is the first person she will call.

When Sandy picks up the phone, she does not even sound very surprised, and Carrie thinks it is extremely polite of her to pretend there is nothing weird about not much more than a mere acquaintance calling her several years after causing an international sensation by defecting to another country.

"I have one more lecture today, so I'm stuck at the university until 3pm, but maybe we could meet at 4pm when I get back home?"

"Of course," Carrie says, a little amazed by such a swift reaction to her cautious request.

"You know the address, right?" Sandy asks, and then laughs a little when Carrie seems stumped by the question. "I see he didn't tell you. Well, I guess it is no feat these days to have a girlfriend _almost_ your own age, but still."

This only puzzles Carrie more, but it all soon becomes clear, when as her home address Sandy gives her the address of Saul's home.

"So… how long does it take to remodel a house like that?" Carrie asks in a jocular manner when upon her arrival at Saul's house she finds it considerably more messy, with books and papers of all kinds, coffee cups, candles, cardigans, and shawls scattered everywhere around.

Sandy laughs, tossing her purse on the couch. "About a year and eight months."

The conversation flows so easily Carrie feels like she is talking to a close friend, but she does not want to be too specific about anything just yet, especially since she is not sure if Sandy's relationship with Saul is going to make her a more or less risky person to rely on if needed. She is also not sure if Sandy knows more or less than she lets on, but at some point she does make an offhanded, solemn remark regarding cosmic justice and Max's death being avenged.

On her way out, Carrie runs into Saul in the hallway and he seems as surprised to see her here as awkward she feels, being suddenly reminded about the dramatic circumstances of when she was in his house for the last time.

"You're early. I didn't clean up after the party yet," Sandy says, her eyes bright with a smile.

"I was just leaving," Carrie says, taking a step toward the door.

"You don't have to. I just didn't know-" Saul starts in an apparent attempt to explain his not very welcoming reaction.

"No, I was leaving anyway," Carrie says with a brief smile, shifting her gaze to Sandy. "Thank you."

"Of course," Sandy says with a smile. "Listen, Carrie… I was wondering…"

"Yes?" Carrie asks, noticing Sandy glancing at Saul with a glimpse of amusement in her eyes, as if she knows she is about to say something that will irritate him.

"It's professional curiosity to some extent, and mostly just curiosity in general, but I'd really like to meet your husband. Do you think you could come to dinner this Friday?"

Carrie has to bite her lip to keep from laughing at Saul's eyebrows shooting up so high she does not think he could raise them any higher.

"Here?" She asks tentatively, glancing at Saul, who stares at Sandy, apparently very much interested in hearing her reply to this question too.

"Of course", Sandy shrugs. "I'll cook something and you can bring dessert. He'll need another minute to get out of his stupor, so you can say 'yes' in the meantime," she says in a conspiratorial voice, pointing to Saul, and then adds when Carrie still seems a bit hesitant to accept the invitation. "I promise I won't be a flirt."

Carrie smiles. "Okay. We'll come."

xxxhomelandxxx

"Where are we going?" Carrie asks when the moment she gets home, Yevgeny tells her they have to be somewhere in an hour.

Once she gets out of the shower, she tells him about her day and Sandy's invitation, and he starts telling her about his day, so she figures they are just going out to a concert or something like that and does not repeat her question, especially since her attention is soon preoccupied with Yevgeny's unexpected announcement that they are to go to The White House on the next day. She thought it would take longer for such a meeting to be scheduled (not to mention that she expected to be the one telling Yevgeny about it, and not the other way around), and Yevgeny smiles a little at that.

"I might've suggested that the sooner it happens the better."

"Suggested to whom?" Carrie asks with a smile, giving him a curious look while getting into the car.

"The foreign policy advisor was kind enough to forward a message from us to President Hayes, and he agreed to see us tomorrow."

Carrie gives him a disbelieving look. "You mean Zabel? I wouldn't put him and 'kind' into one sentence, but okay. How did you get in touch with him in the first place?"

"I didn't. He did. Which is probably better from our perspective, but it also seems that he isn't on good terms with most, and the usefulness of high-conflict people is often limited."

Yevgeny's rational, impassive voice sends shivers up Carrie's spine and she thinks it may be that intimidating, thrilling contrast between this occasional, thoroughly unsentimental mode of his, and how tender and passionate he can be that always has this strange effect on her.

"What did you write in that message?" Carrie asks.

She thinks that someone as irascible and self-important as John Zabel seems like a perfect middle-man to manipulate, and she also suspects Saul is not much in favor of The White House meeting happening that quickly, as he seems to harbor a more or less irrational fear that given a chance, Yevgeny could wrap President Hayes around his finger in under fifteen minutes.

She half-expects an evasive summary, but Yevgeny hands her what looks like a copy of the message instead.

But before she has a chance to finish reading the letter, she suddenly notices the neighborhood they are in, and straightens up in her seat with a twinge of panic piercing through her.

When they park in the driveway in front of Maggie's house, Carrie gives Yevgeny an anguished, indignant look.

"I told you I'm not ready for this. You can't tell me it'd be a good idea to do something, but when I don't do it, you make me do it anyway!" She widens her eyes at him in exasperation.

"You mean that's not how it works?" He feigns confusion, but she does not smile, so he leans toward her, runs his hands up her arms, over her shoulders and neck, all the way to her face which he cups in the palms of his hands. "There will never be the right day or the right moment, Carrie. And every valid reason you can think of to postpone this meeting will only ever seem like an excuse to your daughter. She won't care if you were worried about her reaction or about what your sister would say. All she'll care about, will be that you didn't come to see her. No matter how happy she is, you are her mother and that's the kind of role that's irreplaceable. Parents should fight for their children, and you're the only parent she has left."

Somewhere deep down Carrie knows he is right, but she does want to think about that. Frannie will most likely not want to talk to her, as probably any ten-year-old wouldn't, considering that the last time they saw each other was when Frannie was about five years old. She may not even remember her very well, which is a thought meant to justify her attitude, but it hurts instead.

"Fine," Carrie says grumpily, getting out of the car and heading for Maggie's house without waiting for Yevgeny, who catches up with her by the front door, just in time to push a large box with lots of pink ribbons into her hands a moment before Maggie opens the door.

She looks nervous, not upset, and Carrie wants to think it is a good sign. Unless of course her sister only agreed to this visit, because it was Yevgeny who called her, and Carrie does not want to think what Maggie might have heard about him if her only source of information was Saul.

"Hi," Carrie says in a strained voice, hugging the elaborately wrapped box to her.

"Hi," Maggie replies, shifting her gaze between Carrie and Yevgeny before letting them in, explaining conversationally that Ruby and Josie are renting a flat near campus and now only come home on some weekends or holiday breaks, and that Bill is away on a business trip.

Carrie stops herself from rejoicing at that. The last thing she needs right now is a series of snappy comments, so Bill's absence puts her more at ease.

She is caught off guard when Maggie hugs her briefly before going to call Frannie.

It is a hug that Carrie finds surprisingly easy to interpret, the 'I-thought-I'd-never-see-you-again' hug, and it touches her more deeply than she cares to admit.

"What is it?" Carrie asks Yevgeny with a frown, indicating the box in her hands, while they are waiting for Maggie to come back downstairs with Frannie.

"It's a present you picked," Yevgeny deadpans and she narrows her eyes at him.

"Hi."

The voice catches Carrie off guard as it vaguely reminds her of Brody's voice. Or perhaps it is just her imagination playing tricks on her. She looks up, thinking that she did not feel that self-conscious in a very long time.

"Hi, Frannie," she says in a voice that comes out strained. Somehow saying her daughter's name was easier when she was not standing right before her.

Frannie gives her a shy but happy smile, and Carrie feels relieved and so surprised that when she tries to smile back, she feels tears well up in her eyes.

For a few moments they just look at each other, and then Carrie regains her composure and offers the box to Frannie.

"Is this for me? Thank you!"

"If you like it, it's from me. If you don't, it was his idea," Carrie adds, pointing to Yevgeny who is standing next to her, a couple of steps behind.

Frannie laughs under her breath. "Okay."

The present turns out to consist of a build-your-own-computer kit, a coding robot, and a Barbie the detective doll.

_Subtle_ , Carrie thinks and smiles when Frannie seems delighted by the gifts.

The conversation that follows feels a little strange, but Carrie thinks it is probably just her not remembering how to behave under ordinary circumstances. She is almost appalled when she catches herself drift off in her thoughts while Frannie is telling them about her school. It is not that this topic does not interest her, because it does. But it reminds her of Germany, of how she tried to make a so-called normal life work, and it just would not feel right. Or rather she was terrified by the idea that it might feel right, eventually. Because the truth was that she did not want it to feel right. She used to be haunted by a grim, abstract thought that being satisfied with a mundane, safe reality would mean that a part of her, an important part, a defining part, was dead.

After some tea and cookies, Frannie asks if she could show Carrie her newly redecorated room. They go upstairs, leaving Yevgeny and Maggie to their own devices and Carrie wonders what is going to be an outcome of that.

"So… which one did you use when you left?" Frannie asks after a moment of silence, when they sit down on the edge of her bed, and Carrie keeps looking around the room, not really knowing what to say. Should she apologize? Or pretend that there is nothing strange about her suddenly coming back? "Which passport?" Frannie clarifies, when Carrie gives her a confused look, only a moment later realizing what her daughter is referring to, and not without a twinkle in her eyes. "You had five different ones."

Turning more toward her, Carrie asks with an uncertain smile, her forehead crinkling in a grimace. "How did you know?" She figured that her emergency exit bag was safe, hidden in Frannie's closet, as it would go against Maggie's rules to ever search it. But somehow it did not occur to Carrie that Frannie herself could find the bag, especially at the age of five.

"A girl's got to know what's in her closet," Frannie replies with a shrug. "I didn't tell Aunt Maggie about it," she adds in a lower voice, and Carrie can see in her eyes that she expects an approval from her, and it makes her heart clench. She wants to shake her and tell her 'don't care what I think'. But there is also a part of her that relishes in that.

Carrie smiles, willing herself not to cry, and focusing on telling Frannie which passports she used and through which countries she traveled to Russia, because she feels like she owes Frannie that story.

To her surprise, Frannie seems to know quite a bit about her life story, her work at the CIA, and Carrie does not know if she should feel mortified or gratified that apparently her nieces have an actual scrapbook with pictures and clippings mentioning her, and that Josie and Ruby took ten copies of her book to a book swap event at their college campus. Carrie guesses it must be thanks to her nieces if to Frannie she is still more of a spy than a traitor, despite what she must have heard about her in the course of the last several years.

"Listen, Frannie…" Carrie trails off, not sure if she can or wants to clarify this perception of her. It is not like she can explain exactly what happened or even what is happening right now.

"I didn't want to be rude earlier, but… I like Frances better. Frannie sounds like I'm a baby or something."

"Okay, sure," Carrie says with a smile. "I just wanted to say… I know I'm terrible at this, at… being a mother. It's just that...my life's kind of messed up. I'm messed up. And I'm sorry about that." She frowns, not very happy with her improvised apology, but hoping that perhaps a sincere, even if not very eloquent, attempt is worth something.

Frannie shrugs. "Ruby says that all parents are messed up." Carrie smiles a little at that, but then Frannie pretty much knocks the air out of Carrie's lungs when she adds. "But I don't think any of them are as awesome as you are."

xxxhomelandxxx

Carrie walks back to the car deep in thought and it is only when Yevgeny starts the engine that she shakes herself out of her reverie.

"Thank you," she says in a hushed voice, placing her hand over his on the steering wheel.

Yevgeny slowly turns his hand to close hers in his and narrows his eyes at her in a faint smile. "For dragging you somewhere you didn't want to go?"

"No." Carrie shakes her head with a weak snort, and says in a low, serious voice, resting her forehead against his. "For being a good husband and knowing me well."

xxxhomelandxxx

"Carrie?"

"Yes, you can keep doing that, but I'll probably fall asleep anyway," Carrie replies drowsily, when Yevgeny says her name after spending some time trailing kisses across her back, as they are cuddled together in bed.

He smiles against her skin. "Actually, I have a question."

Carrie's eyes flutter open and she slightly turns her head to give him a smile and a questioning look over her shoulder.

"Back in Kabul, you mentioned that you'd sent to Saul raw data and your own guesses regarding those cryptographic materials. Did you mean you decoded them?" There is something else in his voice too, not just curiosity, and Carrie rolls over onto her other side to see if there is anything in the expression on his face that can help her guess what that something else is.

"Some of them yes, I think."

"What software did you use?" Yevgeny asks, stroking her cheek with his thumb, and arching an eyebrow when she stifles a laugh.

"None," she replies with a smile, leaning into his touch. "I just… tried to figure it out. I don't know if I got any of it right."

"Do you remember what you came up with?"

She hesitates for a second, but then thinks that she already transmitted this information to Saul, so even if she got it right, and even Yevgeny would know about it now, the possible gain of what she has already done could not be undone.

Yevgeny gets her a pen and a sheet of paper from their flip chart board, and after spreading it across the bed, Carrie starts writing what she remembers. She becomes so engrossed in what she is doing that she only notices with delay an awed expression on his face.

"When you took the black box, I had to write down from memory that entire exchange too," she says, shooting him a look.

He gives her half a grimace, half a smile, his forehead wrinkled in astonished admiration. Leaning over the page between them, she pressed a lingering kiss to his lips.

"You must've at least seen it," she says in a low voice, glancing at what she has written. "Can you tell me what I got wrong?"

He studies her for a few seconds with a pensive smile, slides his fingers into her hair and kisses her before reaching out for a red pen, and circling a single item among the blue rows of her writing.

Carrie blinks. "That's all that you think is wrong?" She asks to make sure.

"That's all that is wrong."

"How do you know?" She spent countless hours trying to decode those codes, so the solutions stuck in her head. But for him they had to just be a series of figures in one of many classified documents and not something he learned by heart.

He gives her a small smile. "I know because I wrote these."

She stares at him in bewilderment, which only increases when he grabs her hand, takes her to the computer, and after logging into a virtual cloud network, shows her the steps of creating the code.

"I'll need to let them know these have been compromised. If the US starts targeting the correct locations, it will subvert our credibility."

She looks at him when he tucks her hair behind her ear. "I know," she says with a sigh, thinking that trying to be loyal to both sides may just be a task much harder than playing both sides.

Yevgeny is still looking at her when out of the corner of her eye Carrie notices a pop-up box, which suddenly appears in the corner of the screen and her expression changes so rapidly that Yevgeny gives her a confused, worried look.

Straightening up in her chair, Carrie says with a frown. "You've got a message from Simone."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of twists, I guess? (And beware: this is a VERY long chapter ;)
> 
> (Also, I feel like by the end of this story we may have the geopolitical structure of the world completely refurbished... lol)
> 
> & here is a spoiler regarding the ending of this chapter: :[

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading, for all the kudos and for all the amazing comments! *hugs*

"Aren't you going to read it? Don't you want to know what it is about?"

Carrie thinks she must sound petulant, but it seems like the only tone of voice applicable to the situation. So much happened in the last few weeks that she forgot all about Simone, about running into her in Moscow, and her vague threats. Which makes this sudden reminder of her existence particularly chilling, especially along with the realization that she must be back in the US by now, and the suspicion that Yevgeny could have already met with her here.

"You know what it is about, Carrie," Yevgeny says in a low voice, squinting a little and Carrie finds herself clinging to a glimpse of amusement in his eyes, which seems to indicate that this matter is not much more than a nuisance. "I told you back in Moscow. It's about the Witness Protection Program.”

In the dimly lit room, his voice sounds even more mesmerizing, as if it is derived from the semi-darkness surrounding them. It is patient and calm, like he has all the time in the world, like it is only a matter of time before she accepts his explanation. She can already feel the pull of it, which amazes her every time it happens, this strange inclination to believe in everything he says.

Tearing her gaze away from the tiny blinking light indicating a new message, Carrie reaches out for Yevgeny's hand. It is late, and they are sitting here in the middle of the night, talking, instead of getting some sleep before a long day tomorrow, which is going to include a meeting with the President of the United States. It all seems unprecedented enough that a random gesture is probably not going to make much of a difference anyway. She is upset, but she also wants to take his hand in hers, and it feels liberating that she can do that without worrying whether it makes sense or what it says about her. Because all that matters is that in response to her gesture he slowly closes his fingers around her hand.

"Actually, you only said she offered to provide the details of it,” Carrie continues, glancing at their intertwined hands. “You didn't say what you needed all that for." It only now occurs to Carrie that there may be some significant similarities between the structure of that program and their current situation, but she does not want to make anything of that thought just yet. It was all her idea, after all, wasn't it? Coming here to the US. Not to mention that it was mostly a result of a series of unforeseeable events he could not have possibly anticipated. "And does providing the details of something requires an ongoing secret correspondence?" she asks, pronouncing the last words as if they were particularly obnoxious.

Yevgeny arches an eyebrow at her and reaches out to prop her chin with his hand, his eyes searching her face, her eyes, and she both fears and loves this strange impression of him trying to read her. "It's related to something that's been in progress for a while. I can't just drop it, especially not right now. It'd make a decidedly bad impression. And I believe in our line of work all correspondence is secret?" he adds, lightly stroking her chin with his thumb.

It is a reasonable explanation and yet it somehow also makes her suddenly realize that perhaps he agreed to her double feigned defection scheme a little too easily. Or rather she is not sure how to interpret him talking about keeping up appearances in such a way, as if they were being disloyal to both countries instead of loyal to both, which is how she thought this would work.

"This doesn't explain why you didn't tell me you're still communicating with her. And what if this has become a part of her deal with the US?” Carrie frowns, struck by this quite plausible thought. “What if while trying not to raise the Kremlin's suspicions, you're risking burning our arrangement here?"

Squeezing his eyes shut for a second, Yevgeny pinches the bridge of his nose, and then gives her a faint, lopsided smile. "I'm aware of this possibility. Anything else you're worried about?"

Carrie snorts humorlessly, storming to her feet, but he grabs her before she manages to walk away, and she falls onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep her balance.

"Just to be clear. I'm not throwing a hissy jealousy fit. I just really don't think this is safe." Carrie widens her eyes at him for effect, but her words do not dim Yevgeny's smile, as he seems to stick to his interpretation of her behavior.

"And a simulated binary defection is?"

She wants to retort immediately, but he brushes his mouth over her shoulder and starts nuzzling her cleavage, so she only sighs instead.

"Deflection is not going to work," she says apparently lazily enough for him to smirk against her skin. "And you still didn't tell me what exactly Russia wants with that CIA's Witness Protection Program?"

Grazing his lips up the side of her neck, he deftly slides the straps of her chemise off her shoulders.

"If you're trying to distract me-"

"Is it working?"

She chuckles weakly, resting her cheek on the top of his head. It seemed like an impossible task from the start, the complete truthfulness, and she knows they are both struggling with it, maybe always will. But she also knows there is a part of her, burning within her like an inextinguishable flame, genuinely wishing for this to be possible. And she hopes it is the same for him too.

"Tell me, Yevgeny," she urges him softly, shivering under the touch of his lips, feeling him exhale against her skin before he draws back to look at her.

Slowly sliding her chemise's straps back up onto her shoulders, he says in a low voice. "We want to recruit some of those people back. The ones who have been here for many years. Many of them are not as closely monitored as they used to be."

"We, as in you and Russia or as in you and Simone?" Carrie asks wryly, also wondering if it is really all that there is to it.

Yevgeny snorts under his breath, and then after studying her face for a few seconds, quickly slides his fingers into her hair and pushes her mouth against his.

"We, as in _we_ , you and I, Carrie," Yevgeny whispers after kissing her so fiercely, her lips are still trembling from the kiss when he releases them. "We and our countries. We _as_ our countries. In need of multiple networks now more than ever. Otherwise, we won't be able to do much. As for Simone, she's on the blacklist ever since that testimony. Like I told you before, what she's doing now won't change that. It's only a matter of convenience that she's still alive."

Trying to decide if this is a reassuring sentiment or rather something to be alarmed about, Carrie frowns, wondering if the Kremlin's hit list might exist in any physical, obtainable form. As much as she wants this joint agenda to work, she does not think either of them has actually switched to this new mode overnight, and so there might still be very many secrets she does not know about.

"I think you should really know by now,” Yevgeny says with a faint smile, shaking Carrie out of her thoughts by caressing the side of her face with the backs of his fingers. “I don't have any feelings left that wouldn't be yours. There is not an atom left in me that wouldn't revolve around you.”

Carrie blinks, caught off guard by Yevgeny's voice suddenly becoming so earnest and warm, his intoxicating words succeeding in overshadowing all other thoughts currently running through her head.

Clutching his shoulders, she lifts herself to change the position and straddle him as he skims the length of her arm with his fingers, watching her face with that ardent interest which she always finds most exhilarating. Her heart pounding in her chest, she pushes his already unbuttoned sleep top off his shoulders, and down his arms, but leaves it hanging on his wrists.

"After I ran into you in Kabul, I told Saul I wanted to round you up and strap you to a chair," she recalls with a small smile, leaning down to trail soft kisses across his lips.

Yevgeny smiles, trying to capture her lips in a longer kiss, but she keeps moving her mouth an inch away at a time.

"You should've done it," he says in a low voice, his breath quickening, which causes her to draw in a stuttered gasp.

Holding his darkening gaze, she slowly traces his jawline, runs her fingers across his lips, and whispers in Russian. "He said I couldn't touch you."

In one swift movement Yevgeny frees his hands from the sleeves, and wraps his arms tightly around her, crashing her to him. "Let me repudiate that terrible nonsense immediately."

Stifling a laugh, Carrie kisses him, but then breaks the kiss to ask with a hesitant smile. "Can I read that message first?"

He gives her an amused look. "Is there anything I can say or do that could stop you from worrying about that?" Reaching out toward the keyboard, he clicks the message open, and gestures for her to take a look.

"I'm not worried," Carrie says, glancing at the text over her shoulder. "I just want to know what's going on."

After reading the message, she deletes it and turns back toward him. "So… where were we?"

"Are you going to tell me what was in it?" Yevgeny asks with a faint smile, catching the hem of her camisole and rubbing it absently between his fingers.

Tossing her hair to the side, Carrie leans down to trail kisses across his chest, her hair brushing against his skin when she moves her mouth over his shoulder and neck. When she feels his hand grasp her thigh, she whispers into his ear. “I'll tell you later. It's nothing you should worry about-” She exhales sharply and closes her eyes with a smile, “right now."

xxxhomelandxxx

Even though it is obviously not possible, Carrie almost wonders if maybe David Wellington's name really does not ring a bell with Yevgeny, because of how completely unfazed he is when they meet at The White House. She tries to make conversation, if only because she feels sorry for David who seems simultaneously angry and painfully embarrassed for being forced to act civilly toward someone who rendered a year of his life practically invalid, because he spent it believing he was at the happiest point of his life while in reality he was being remorselessly played.

What makes things worse, and the entire encounter even more awkward is also the fact that David has apparently no idea about their scheduled meeting with the President.

"I don't think we'd come here if it wasn't true," Yevgeny points out when David proceeds to check the electronic calendar.

"If you don't mind, I need something more than your word for it," David snaps, shooting Yevgeny a glare from above the computer screen. The glare is not as intense when he looks at her, but it still is a glare, filled with a mixture of bafflement and indignation.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Yevgeny watches David for another minute before he offers. "Wouldn't it be more expeditious to just ask the President?"

Carrie can see a frown deepen on David's face, but he makes a point of ignoring Yevgeny's remark, and before he has the time to make another one, John Zabel strides into the room, and to David's chagrin, asks them to follow him.

By the time they enter The Oval Office, Carrie is sure David is already on the phone with Saul. She wonders how upset Saul will be that she did not give him a heads up regarding this meeting, but the truth is, she did not want him to intervene and possibly cause it to be postponed or show up to participate in it. She is curious what Yevgeny is going to say, because the message he showed her was quite vague, and when she asked him about the details, he just said with a wink that she would see today.

"Finally," President Hayes says after welcoming them. "Please, take a seat. And let me start by saying that while I'm aware of the fact that what happened in Afghanistan was a collective effort and it is a shared success, I do know you've been a big part of that."

Carrie returns his smile. "Thank you."

It is the first time she has a chance to talk to him in person and her first impression is more favorable than she thought it would be. She did not approve of many of his past decisions, especially during his first term and thought his overall course was conspicuously erratic, but at least he does not seem arrogant or pompous, but rather self-aware in trying to appear more confident and knowledgeable than he perhaps is. Eager to learn, to work together with people who will not treat him with surreptitious condescension. The thoughts cross her mind one after the other, and after her originally optimistic assessment, Carrie freezes for a second thinking that it is exactly these rather positive but exploitable traits that must have landed on top of Yevgeny's research summary regarding the President.

"And whoever killed Jalal Haqqani also contributed significantly to that", President Hayes points out, and Carrie adds what she already knew: _not a die-hard pacifist_ to her list of things to worry about. "I was really wary of endorsing a peace deal involving him" the President continues with a frown. "Maybe he wasn't behind that tragic helicopter crash, but he killed some of our best soldiers and countless other people, including his own. So I think what happened is best for everyone."

"You don't know who shot him?" Yevgeny attempts to verify, and then after receiving a slightly baffled confirmation of that says, indicating Carrie with an elegant gesture. "Well, now you do."

Carrie seems as much taken aback by this unexpected limelight as President Hayes, but after a moment of surprise and confusion, he seems to regain his composure and give Carrie an awed look.

"I don't know why I apparently couldn't know that before, but I'm glad I know now. I'm afraid I'm surrounded by people who believe in excessive filtering of information," the President mutters with a sigh, and Carrie is sure he is thinking about Saul.

She wonders if Saul's opinion of the President has changed, because she begins to think that maybe it should. Despite their many differences, Saul is still the National Security Advisor, which means that at least one of them is able to look at a bigger picture.

"Thank you for telling me," the President nods, looking at Yevgeny before shifting his gaze to Carrie. "And thank you." He reaches out to take Carrie's hand and shakes it in both of his. "It's an achievement, but also a great sacrifice, and I, on behalf of the entire country, am very appreciative of that."

Half a grimace, half a smile is Carrie's only reaction to his words, as she was not prepared for her role in what happened to be discussed. There also seems to be no good reply to President Hayes' acknowledgment. Thank you? You're welcome? The entire reveal seems spontaneous enough, but she doubts Yevgeny would resort to spontaneity at any point of such a meeting, and so she is left wondering what is his reason for telling the President about it.

The conversation then turns to current events, and Yevgeny unleashes his irresistible erudition, prompting her to comment, voice her opinion, express her views more and more, as he also manages to aptly weave into the discussion some of her carefully selected accomplishments. His analysis of the current situation is not based on any secrets, but it is so comprehensive that Carrie thinks that to most people it may sound like he is sharing some classified information. She keeps wondering what he is up to, when all of a sudden he drops a bombshell and tells President Hayes about her deciphering Russian cryptographic documents related to the weapons of mass destruction. At which point she decides to stop even trying to guess where he is going with this conversation. Paradoxically, in the next moment she begins to think that maybe she may have an idea, after all, when after overcoming his astonishment, the President starts pondering her return to the White House as a Senior Advisor.

Having inspired that idea, Yevgeny continues with a flare that Carrie finds utterly enthralling because of how natural it sounds while being, she is sure of that, thoroughly scripted. "We've been so busy arguing, competing, fighting, always trying to beat each other up, best each other. But the truth is that one country, even the greatest one, will never succeed in ruling the world. It's only a strong alliance that can achieve that."

Carrie is not sure if it is excitement or dread that prevails when she notices the change in the President's gaze as he obviously finds the idea appealing.

"You're right," he says with a pensive frown.

Without looking at Yevgeny, Carrie can imagine the glimmer in his eyes, that indication of something that she cannot decide if it is good or bad or just a useful skill. That he seems to thrive on people giving in to him.

In another twist, which would have been nigh suicidal if they were talking to anyone else here, but as she quickly decides is quite brilliant considering the President's personality, Yevgeny pretty much admits the defection is more of a cover, and tells President Hayes that President Volkov believes that together they could achieve great things and that undisclosed bilateral agreements may solve quite a few problems.

Carrie feels like she should say something, like she should interfere. But she finds herself wondering if this could actually work and lead to something positive. The definition of treason has become blurry at the edges years ago anyway.

The President nods when Yevgeny suggests that a joint announcement of the destruction of the weapons of mass destruction would open a new chapter in international relations.

"And in exchange…"

Carrie holds her breath. _In exchange for useless information which has already been compromised_ , she thinks derisively, although the destruction of those weapons, even of some of them would still be an undeniably good thing. It is too bad that apparently Saul has not shared the information she sent with the President earlier. Now the timing works in Yevgeny's favor, because he is the first one to tell the President about it.

"In exchange," Yevgeny says conversationally, as if they were friends discussing a matter of limited importance, "maybe the recently imposed sanctions could be revised to determine if more mutual benefits might be derived from lifting them?"

xxxhomelandxxx

Carrie tells Yevgeny that the message from Simone was only to say that she needed to reschedule a meeting, while it was actually a confirmation of a meeting already set up. Maybe it is not the most well thought out idea, but she decided that she wants to talk to Simone, get a sense of her mood and attitude. It also feels like a good way to distract herself from mulling over the meeting at The White House, especially since they are going to spend the evening with Saul and Sandy, so clearing and calming her mind before that seems like a good idea.

Not that talking to Simone is going to be a calming experience, Carrie thinks with a grimace, turning off the engine.

Simone is already inside a coffee shop when Carrie arrives. Through a large window, she can see her looking pensively into her cup while slowly stirring its contents with a spoon. She looks deceptively fragile or maybe it is just easier to suppress the thought that she may really be vulnerable, because worrying about that is out of scope of the agenda for today.

"Hi," Carrie says flatly, taking a seat across from Simone who unhurriedly raises her gaze to look at her.

Clenching her jaw, Carrie reminds herself that it is absurd and unfair to despise Simone for being a part of Yevgeny's past, the past which goes all the way back to when he did not even know she existed. Yet, maybe because he does not talk about such things, in fact never said a word about any woman in his life, all these jealousy-driven emotions concentrate on the only woman Carrie knows about.

"You should've waited for Yevgeny to come. If you were watching us from a distance, you could see which hotel we usually go to," Simone taunts, enunciating each word with bitter firmness.

Carrie must look more unaffected by these baiting remarks than she feels, because there is a glint of anger in Simone's eyes when she says."Why did you come here? To gloat?"

"Actually, I came to warn you." It is not exactly the truth, but Carrie hopes at least the element of surprise is going to be fairly effective.

Simone gives her a cynical smile, slowly leaning back in her chair. "I see. You came to save me... again. I think this time I'll pass."

"I wasn't planning on any of this," Carrie says with a frown, annoyed by Simone's tone implying as if it was some cheap parlor trick, her literally risking her life for her country, which coincidentally required keeping Simone alive.

Simone gives her a strange, almost pitiful smile. "No, you weren't. But it's funny how you apparently think it all just happened. I'm not angry at you. I even feel sorry for you, the way I feel sorry for myself. You think you are the love of his life," she says mockingly, "but in fact you are just a part of his plan. His carefully groomed useful idiot. More exciting in bed than a stranger, because he admires you, and you gaze at him with love in your eyes. But make no mistake. He may choose you over me, over everyone. But he won't choose you over his country."

"And what makes you think I don't know that?" Carrie cuts in with a grimace with as much conviction in her voice as she can muster. She repeats the words in her head until they do not hurt anymore. Didn't they agree on that? Isn't it something they are both aware of? But only now, after saying the words out loud and to someone else too, she starts wondering if it is not more complicated than that. What if it is simultaneously true and not true? Like so many other things about them. It seems that this dichotomy, this duality, is what they have in common.

“You think you know that. But deep down you don't believe it,” Simone sneers weakly.

“Sounds like you're talking about yourself, not about me,” Carrie risks a plausible retort.

“Does Yevgeny know you're here?" Simone asks, ignoring the remark. "He may be upset you're interfering with the plan.”

Narrowing her eyes at Simone, Carrie cannot decide if she is more irritated by the idea of something that involves Yevgeny, but does not involve her, or by the mere fact of Simone saying his name. “I don't think that is your problem.”

Simone smiles, a glint of satisfaction flashing in her eyes. “You don't even know what the plan is, do you? Well, I'm not going to tell you.”

Carrie wonders if throwing what she knows into Simone's face is a good idea. Probably not, since she cannot be sure that Yevgeny told her everything. Which does not make her feel much better about the entire situation. All of a sudden, she is reminded of his choice of words. _"We want to recruit some of them back."_ What about the rest?

"I just came here to tell you that your life is in danger," Carrie says on an impulse, overcome with a sudden wish for Simone to just disappear, no matter what kind of a plan would get ruined because of it. "You should leave, the sooner the better."

"I wonder what Yevgeny will say when I tell him you said that?" Simone muses, rising to her feet. "Don't overestimate your usefulness. It may have just run its course. He did mention he's getting tired of you," she adds as an afterthought before turning around.

Carrie watches her leave the coffee shop and disappear around the corner.

What she does not see is a car Simone gets into, parked in an alleyway nearby.

"He didn't come. She did."

"I know," Dar Adal says wryly, taking an earbud out of his ear. "But maybe this tête-à-tête will prove useful all the same."

xxxhomelandxxx

It is already dusk when they stop in front of Saul's house, and Yevgeny grabs Carrie's hand before she gets out of the car. After pressing a kiss to her knuckles, he places her hand on his cheek and leans into her touch.

Simone's words are still ringing in Carrie's ears, but they sound more hollow and false with every passing second, and Carrie thinks that by the end of the day they may evaporate from her mind altogether.

"You know this isn't an ordinary social visit, right?"

Pushing away the bothersome memories of her meeting with Simone, Carrie asks with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"Saul probably wanted this invitation to seem like a spontaneous, reluctantly agreed upon thing. But there may be a specific reason for it. Or it could just be a probing meeting to observe and assess.”

Carrie considers this for a moment and decides that indeed they cannot rule out the possibility. "You're right," she says with a pensive frown.

A shadow of a smug smile crosses Yevgeny's face. "I like when you say that I'm right," he explains in response to her questioning look.

She bites back a smile. "The President of Russia says you're always right, the President of the United States thinks you're right. It'd probably be dumb to argue otherwise," she says matter-of-factly.

Yevgeny smiles. "So what do you think?" He asks in a low voice, turning his head to kiss the palm of her hand.

They did not have a chance to talk about the meeting at The White House yet, as immediately after it, he had a preliminary clearance interview scheduled, which time slot Carrie used to go to the meeting with Simone.

"About recruiting the President of the United States?"

Yevgeny chuckles under his breath. "Let's not exaggerate."

"Actually, I'm downplaying it," Carrie says in a matching, mildly amused tone.

"I thought you might like the destruction of the weapons part," he says with a shrug, fondling her hand in his.

"What about the sanctions part?" She retorts, squinting.

"Well, do you like it too?" He asks in all seriousness and she looks away with a mirthless snort.

"Isn't this ice too thin?" She asks after a moment, shifting her eyes back to him. "Telling Hayes this is not a real defection?"

Yevgeny shakes his head, and Carrie finds the unwavering certainty in his voice simultaneously unsettling and reassuring. "I'm sure Saul already planted the seeds of doubt regarding it. That way we are a step ahead. The truth is always the best smokescreen."

Carrie tries to keep trepidation off her face, as Yevgeny's last sentence takes her breath away, if only for a split second. If even the truth is a tool, is there anything off limits out there? But then she remembers what Quinn once said, accusing her of there not being a line she wouldn't cross, so perhaps what sounds appalling to her now is just a mirror image of her own philosophy.

"I talked to Simone today," she blurts out, thinking that perhaps she can get this subject over with before this complicated day is over.

Yevgeny exhales slowly, but does not seem surprised. "I thought you might. You don't think I can't retrieve a deleted e-mail, do you?" He says with a small smile in response to Carrie's slightly confused look and she narrows her eyes at him in a frown. "So did you find out what you wanted to find out?" He asks, brushing a curled up strand of hair off her face.

"I wasn't looking for anything. I just… I don't like that you have some dealings with her. Do you have to? She implied everything from having an affair with you to me being a minion you've been playing from the start."

"Sounds like she tried to rile you up," Yevgeny says, unimpressed. "Did you expect anything else?"

"I might've told her she should get lost if she didn't want to end up six feet under," Carrie adds after a pause, her eyes boring into Yevgeny's to see his reaction.

And there is a glimpse of something in his eyes, although she finds herself unable to decipher what it is.

"You must've succeeded in scaring her, because her phone went dead and she was supposed to report something by 5pm today," he says, running his hand across his face with a grimace.

He averts his gaze for a few seconds, and Carrie holds her breath, struck by the look in his eyes, giving the impression of hundreds of crisscrossing thoughts passing through his head the way in which she often feels they are passing through hers and she cannot help an inward smile at this similarity. Then he looks at her again and she wonders if her interference might warrant him getting actually angry with her, probably for the first time ever, but Yevgeny just shakes his head in apparent exasperation and pulls her into his arms, repeating her name under his breath a few times before kissing her.

"Sorry if I messed something up," she whispers breathlessly, cupping his face in her hands.

He rests his forehead against hers, lifts his hand to caress her hair. "Don't worry. I'll fix it. But could you give me an advance warning next time you decide to play havoc with my schedule?"

"I don't know. I can try, but I don't even give advance warnings to myself about such things," she mutters in all sincerity.

"Fair enough," he says with a smile. "I like the curls," he adds, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger.

She stifles a laugh. "I know. I did them for you," she says, shaking her hair a little to show off the effects of her newly bought curling wand.

They are about to kiss again when a knock on the window reminds them where they are.

"Hey, we started to worry you got locked inside the car," Sandy says with an amused smile when Carrie and Yevgeny finally emerge from their vehicle.

Carrie smiles, trying not to dwell much on the thought that Sandy and Saul were probably able to see them through their windows ever since they parked the car in front of their house.

It is late and Carrie feels so tired after this long day that as unlikely as it is, she keeps hoping that maybe David did not call Saul, after all, and so the atmosphere during this dinner will turn out to be pleasant or at least tolerable. But Saul is not very talkative, and the expression on his face tells her he knows about their visit to The White House.

She braces herself for a comment regarding that when at some point Sandy insists on consulting a certain passage from a Russian textbook with Yevgeny, which seems a harmless enough pretext to give Carrie and Saul a chance to exchange a few words alone.

"You didn't tell me you were going to see the President today," Saul says grimly, and Carrie suddenly feels further away from him than ever before, which hurts, even if she knows it must mostly be her own fault. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

“Really? This again?” Carrie sighs in exasperation, wondering if he really considers their friendship beyond repair. Which should probably be obvious, considering that she was quite literally an inch away from injecting him with a deadly poison.

“Think about it. How much further can he get than The White House?”

She knows Saul is just worried, but there is little she can do to remedy that, because she does not think that explaining everything to him would help. Especially since it would most likely actually have the opposite effect.

“Well, it's not like he's moved in there,” Carrie huffs, wondering if her being restored to her once-held position of a Senior Advisor could actually count as Yevgeny moving in to The White House by proxy…

“He made the connection. He met the President. And from what I've heard, unfortunately made a favorable impression. Now he can proceed with or without you, so all I'm saying is that you should be careful. It's just a well-meaning warning."

It is a random observation, but Carrie thinks Saul speaks too fast, and that the transition from worrying about the country to worrying about her is too sudden. Or maybe he really is just worried about her.

“Great. Thank you,” she mutters, holding his gaze and frowning at the sadness she finds there, as if he is mourning not just their friendship, but the person he thinks she no longer is.

“Are you going to tell me what Yevgeny and the President talked about?” He asks with a mirthless smile that indicates he does not expect an answer, which upsets her, even if he is right.

“I was there too,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

Saul sighs, a ghost of a broken smile flitting through his face. “There was a time when this would be reassuring enough,” he says in a low, thoughtful voice and hesitates for a moment, but then adds. “But I'm afraid I no longer trust you that much.”

xxxhomelandxxx

Carrie wakes up on the next day with a headache. And a note from Yevgeny on the pillow that she spends a few minutes reading over and over again, just to gather enough strength to get up and start a new day after yesterday which felt like several days all rolled into one.

A doorbell makes her frown and consult the clock. She slides off the bed, thinking that 7am is a strange time for visits.

Draping a robe over her shoulders, she wonders if maybe Saul came to apologize... unlikely, especially since as much as he was wrong, he was probably right to some extent too.

“May I help you?” Carrie asks with a frown, confused by what she sees when she opens the door.

It is a sight she did not see or even think about in a very long time, which makes it all the more unpleasant to be confronted with right now.

Glancing at the ambulance parked nearby, Carrie looks the four people in medical scrubs up and down. Her first thought is that it is a mistake, an address mix-up. But when she is asked to verify her name, she feels cold shivers run up her spine and takes an instinctive step back to close the door.

Unfortunately, someone grabs the door before she manages to shut it close and even though a mistake of some sort is still a feasible option, Carrie feels a sense of panic rise in her chest. It starts feeling like an absurd bad dream and she can hardly believe the words she hears.

“Ma'am, we need to take you to the hospital for an emergency assessment."

"What? Why?" She tells herself she should calm down and lower her voice, because whatever this is, or rather whatever kind of a set-up this is, she is not making the situation any better by acting overly upset.

"It was reported that you may pose a threat to yourself and others. Please, come with us. It is for the best."

"Reported by whom?" Carrie asks with an incredulous grimace, weighing her options. She can no longer close the door on them, and running away would not work to her advantage. She knows how this works. Feeling the tears gather in her eyes, she tries to tell herself that maybe she can talk her way out of this trap, but then she notices one of the people reaching for a syringe and she realizes there is no point trying to reason with them. “Reported by whom?” She asks impatiently, trying to buy herself some time to think.

But then she freezes when she actually receives a response to her question.

"By your husband."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yevgeny, Saul, and Dar walk into a bar… Just kidding. It's not a bar ;)
> 
> Oh and things get better in this chapter! And then... they get worse, sorry! haha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading & commenting & all the kudos! It makes me so happy to know that you enjoy reading this story! :)

When after another prolonged clearance interview Yevgeny gets his phone back, he is surprised not to find any messages from Carrie waiting for him. Whenever she happens to be in a playful mood, she usually sends him dozens of texts, but at the very least she always texts him at least once to confirm her plans for the day or the time and place where they would meet during the day if possible. This time, even though it is past noon already, there are no messages at all.

Pressing the speed dial button with her name on it, Yevgeny places the phone near his ear while walking down the stairs, but after a few moments the call goes to voicemail and he cannot help a twinge of worry at that.

He stops in his tracks. “Hey, call me when you get this, baby, okay?” He murmurs into the phone, wondering if a radio silence of several hours is a good enough reason to worry or if he is becoming annoyingly overprotective.

“If you're trying to reach Carrie, she doesn't have her phone with her.”

Yevgeny blinks, and slowly turns around, his gaze already steel cold when he meets Saul's eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Glancing at his watch, Saul says flatly. “Let's meet at 6pm. You know where I live.” He holds Yevgeny's gaze for a second, as if daring him to ask for an explanation.

Yevgeny immediately suspects he will not receive any meaningful answers right now, but the urge to ask the question anyway seems stronger and so he says through his teeth. “Where is Carrie?”

“She's alright,” Saul says in an intentionally dispassionate tone. “Whether you're going to see her ever again is another matter, but as I said, 6pm. I don't have time right now.” And with that, Saul briskly walks away, a scowl appearing on his face only when Yevgeny can no longer see him.

Maybe the point of no return is something that happens to everyone, eventually, Saul thinks grimly. Initially, he was not really sold on Dar's idea, but maybe drastic times do call for drastic measures, after all.

xxxhomelandxxx

Just like she expected, the assessment is a joke, and trying to reason with the people she is forced to talk to appears to make little sense, so she decides to focus on trying to find a way out of this predicament.

The version she gets is that her husband reported her acting in a strange and violent way, got scared, and ran out to call for help, because he did not feel safe in the same house with her and he was also worried she would hurt herself.

“Sounds like someone I wouldn't marry,” Carrie snaps, unable to stop herself.

The doctor gives her a long look but says nothing, and just pushes the glasses up his nose to take another look at the file splayed on the desk in front of him.

Averting her eyes from the doctor, Carrie realizes that she actually never thought about how Yevgeny would react to her having a full fledged manic episode. She just assumed he would handle it on his own, no matter what, because he knew how much she could not stand being in a hospital ever again.

But such considerations are irrelevant now anyway, she reminds herself gloomily. Since she is not having an episode. Nonetheless, by the same token, she is also absolutely certain Yevgeny would not have her locked up in a psychiatric ward just to keep her off the streets. However, she suspects this entire situation must have something to do with Simone and the scheme she is involved in. Only that Simone would not have the means here in the US to have it all arranged like that, so someone else must be helping her. Or perhaps it is her who is helping someone. Carrie frowns at all the possibilities. Or rather at the limited possibilities that she is reluctant to consider. Would Saul have the heart to do something like that to her? Even following Dar Adal's urging? Since there is no doubt in her mind that Dar would put her through the wringer without batting an eye. Only she is not sure why would they do something like that? Just to frame Yevgeny? Make her think he put her here? Unlikely. Maybe they want to keep her from returning to The White House?

“Can I make a phone call?” Carrie asks sternly, interrupting the doctor in mid-sentence when he starts talking about the benefits of a more detailed examination.

“I don't think this is a good idea,” he says carefully.

Carrie gives a short, derisive laugh. “Of course it isn't. So what's next?” She contemplates a moralizing speech, but then decides it is not worth her time, so she just settles for a scornful glare and a single line delivered in an ominous tone. “You better hurry with your little stratagem here, because when my _real_ husband finds out about all this, you might feel inclined to focus on planning your funeral instead.”

And she finds it grimly amusing that for the first time the doctor looks at her as if she indeed was not in her right mind.

xxxhomelandxxx

Yevgeny leaves no stone unturned trying to find Carrie or at least find out what happened, but after several hours when he arrives at Saul's house by 6pm, he is only half-way through verifying the shortlisted possibilities.

When Saul opens the door, Yevgeny gives him a glowering stare before following him into a well-lit room where Dar Adal is sitting in one of the armchairs with a glass of wine in his hand.

"Must've been a long day. Would you care for a drink?" Dar asks with a thin smile, which does not reach his eyes.

Yevgeny does not reply and also does not sit down when invited to do so by Saul, who takes a seat on a couch.

Standing across from Saul and Dar in the middle of the room, Yevgeny regards them with a dark expression on his face. "Where is Carrie?"

"I believe we are all here to discuss just that… among other things,” Dar says slowly.

"Well, I'm not here to discuss anything,” Yevgeny retorts evenly. “Where is Carrie?”

Dar narrows his eyes at him.“A piece of advice. Never look desperate at the beginning of negotiations.”

Something flashes in Yevgeny's eyes and Saul finds it puzzlingly difficult to decipher. Like that fiery look Yevgeny gave Carrie during their first meeting in Moscow when she jumped to her feet and started throwing evidence they had gathered at him. At first Saul thought it was anger, contempt, aversion, but in hindsight it could not have been any of that, so it is likely not something like that right now either. After a moment of consideration, Saul decides it is rather a strong belief that the tide will turn. No, not a belief. A staunch resolve to turn the tide with his own hands.

“It's a straightforward question. I assure you that's not how I act when I'm desperate,” Yevgeny says wryly.

“Instead of asking for the tenth time where is Carrie, maybe you should ask what we want?” Saul cuts in, his eyebrows raised in a hostile frown.

“That'd imply I care to know.”

Dar chuckles mirthlessly. “You know, maybe you should think that over. Carrie's bewildering, to me at least, appeal notwithstanding, I think it'd make much more sense for you to work with us.”

“Oh so now it is a business meeting?” Yevgeny asks with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “And not some dilettantish blackmail attempt?”

"Possibly not that dilettantish if you still came here after having a few hours to figure it out on your own,” Dar replies in a smug tone.

“Carrie's in a psychiatric hospital somewhere in the country,” Saul interrupts the back and forth that in his opinion has been taking too long. “And she'll stay there until we come to some sort of an understanding.”

Squinting, Dar leisurely analyzes the emotions that cross Yevgeny's face and he is almost disappointed it seems to be a purely personal dismay.

"How could you do that to her?" Yevgeny asks with a grimace, his heart clenching painfully at the thought of Carrie being thrown into what she once said was her worst nightmare, getting locked up in such a place again.

"Please." Dar places an empty glass on a table nearby. "This isn't half as bad as most of GRU's methods. And to clarify, we didn't do it. You did.”

He does not say it out loud, but Saul notices the disdainful look in Yevgeny's eyes which seems to reflect the immediate, unhesitant thought: _"She's never going to believe it was me."_

"It seems that some interesting arrangements have been discussed at The White House lately," Dar says, his tone changing from sardonic to pragmatic. "That shall remain in the realm of idle talks," he adds pointedly. "The sanctions lift needs to go. And it is also high time to provide some substantial information of choice that could actually be useful. If you think you can be here without having all the bridges burnt, you're wrong. We need to be sure this defection is not a ruse and that Russia doesn't think it's a ruse. And if it is...” Dar trails off, placing a flash memory card on the coffee table in front of him.

Yevgeny raises his eyebrows at him in a mockingly expectant expression.

"If it is, it needs to stop being a ruse," Saul says evenly, his eyes fixed on Yevgeny's face. "Otherwise, this will make its way to the Kremlin."

"It is a list of... questionable deaths," Dar amends.

A flicker of a wry smile passes through Yevgeny's face. "I don't think they need a copy of that in Moscow, but go ahead. I'm sure it was difficult to get, so maybe you'll entertain a clerical worker or two."

Watching Yevgeny with unrelenting intensity, Saul still hopes that Dar's plan will work out and that they will not be left empty-handed, with only another scar upon their conscience. But the longer he ponders it, the less certain he becomes that this plan was a good idea. Because there seems to be something impossible to overcome about Yevgeny, a stubborn tirelessness that reminds him of Carrie.

"Oh, I'm aware of unofficially official endorsements usually accompanying such misdemeanors," Dar says, unfazed. "But I believe here is a couple of actual oddities. For instance… Sergei Mirov."

Having braced himself for a careful examination of Yevgeny's reactions, Saul notices right away an interesting glimpse of worry in his gaze that quickly hardens into nonchalance.

"What about him?"

"Apparently, he died in a car crash… with a bullet in his chest. At least that's what the original version of the medical report says,” Dar points out offhandedly, his gaze fixed on Yevgeny. “How convenient that it happened when he started being vocal about his suspicions regarding Carrie."

"So I killed him to protect Carrie. Is that what you're saying?” Yevgeny asks brusquely, and Saul wonders why he felt the need to spell that out. “I'm not sure Moscow will care as much as you hope they might. I think GRU may be better off without someone with perception skills allowing him not to notice an enemy agent right in his office. For years."

Dar raises an eyebrow. "And how long did it take you to realize Carrie didn't really defect?"

"Not thirty years," Yevgeny retorts dryly, glancing at Saul who glares back at him.

There is something in his gaze that stuns Saul, a certain resentment that if sincere, must be a sign of near madness. No one in their right mind could possibly consider running an agent in an enemy country for decades to be somehow more despicable than tearing out of one's life two closest friends, one ending up dead and the other... With a frown, Saul thinks that he does not even know what word he should use to describe what happened to Carrie, with Carrie. Did she betray him? Did he betray her? Who lost whom? Was he wrong to trust her... too much? Not enough? Whatever thought crossed his mind, they all rang true to some extent, even if all together they hardly made sense.

"What about Alexander Kamenev?" Dar continues, squinting. "He couldn't be as ineffective as Mirov if he got promoted shortly before his death."

Saul blinks in surprise, pulled out of his thoughts by the expression that crosses Yevgeny's face. It is unlike all others, as if his breath was knocked out of him for a split second. A mixture of pain, anger, remorse, quite odd in the context of killing a subordinate for reasons Dar was not able to unearth.

"What exactly is the point you're trying to make?" Yevgeny asks in a low voice, glaring at both of them.

"If you start cooperating, you will get Carrie back… eventually, and maybe we'll allow you to continue with this bizarre domestic bliss of yours. If not, then it's the extradiction for you, with all that being charged with sabotage and treason entails, while she will spend the rest of her life in a psychiatric hospital.” Sitting back in the armchair, Dar adds as an afterthought. “After a few courses of electroconvulsive therapy she probably won't even remember your name."

xxxhomelandxxx

By the time they get to the hospital, Carrie has tried to escape twice and despite telling herself that all of this must get sorted out sooner rather than later, she finds herself unable to just stay put and wait. There is something about being locked up that awakens a sense of overwhelming panic and dread in her, triggers the worst memories and throws her back into the suffocating darkness. To her dismay, she cannot keep her hands from shaking and she can barely see her surroundings through the veil of tears in her eyes.

She does not know if the medication she gets is a part of the scheme or if it is her talking about the scheme that becomes the reason she gets the medication... The anxiety she feels crawls over her like a cold current underneath her skin, and yet there are bursts of fire in her head, myriads of thoughts aligning themselves in colorful rows. She wants to free herself from these thoughts but she can't.

When she falls asleep, repeatedly, for a few minutes at a time, it feels like a rope with a stone tied around her neck, pulling her underwater until there is nothing left, not even a speck of light on the other side of the shimmering surface, which she can only see upside down as it is quickly disappearing from view.

The pattern of falling asleep and being startled awake seemingly by her own thoughts tires her out, and it is already dark outside when with the remnants of strength, she tries to find refuge in memories which do not hurt.

_"What are you going to write in your report?" Carrie asks when after a long walk they have now been sitting for quite some time in a tight embrace, looking at the sunlit leaves fluttering in the breeze. She shifts in Yevgeny's arms, but only slightly, just enough. Because she noticed that when she does that, he instinctively cradles her to him even more, and it makes her heart beat faster, gives her a pleasurable rush of adrenaline reminiscent of what she used to only felt while on a mission._

_He rests his cheek on the top of her head and squints into the distance. "The detainee made rude demands, was nagging and importunate all day," he utters the words mimicking an official tone._

_Carrie snorts under her breath and lifts her head to look at him. "I only said that I'd like to see you without a beard more often, that's all."_

_He does not say anything, but shows up clean-shaven on the next day._

_When they are alone, she traces the contours of his face with her fingertips, cups his face in her hands._

_"When are we going to kiss?" He asks on an impulse, murmurs the words against her skin while nuzzling the side of her face._

_The silence that falls is broken only by the wind rustling the leaves of the birch trees. She does not say anything for a longer while, so he draws back to look at her, sifts her hair through his fingers while waiting for her to speak._

_She looks at him, and he can tell by the look in her eyes that she is actually mulling over the answer to his question. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, as if she was afraid the words might come out wrong otherwise and he thinks he needs to tell her one of these days that she has nothing to worry about. Because everything she says is right. Because she can do no wrong. Because she is perfect. Because he wants to hold her in his arms for the rest of his life._

“ _Not here,” she says softly, in a strained whisper, with utmost sincerity, her eyes searching his as if she wants to check if he understands._

_Smiling faintly, he takes her hand in his, clasps it tightly between his. “Okay.”_

xxxhomelandxxx

Yevgeny gets a new lead as soon as he leaves Saul's house. It is based on the information obtained by bots set to checking medical records within the state. He also gets images from the cameras which captured the ambulance near their house. With that, he heads straight to the hospital indicated by the converging evidence and strolls inside, maneuvering across the hallways after snatching an ID and a white coat.

It is not a pleasant deja vu, and Saul and Dar's words are ringing in his ears too, but he tries not to dwell on the past, at least not right now. Now all that matters is to find Carrie and take her home.

He reaches the restricted-access floor, disables the lock with a magnetic device, and walks inside. After turning a corner, he waits for the passage to clear before moving quickly from door to door and peering inside.

In one of the rooms, his eyes immediately fall on the lithe shape on the bed, blond hair in slight disarray, her back to the door.

The door is closed, but it does not take him long to unlock it. He takes several strides across the room and lowers himself on one knee by the bed, a wave of relief washing over him at finding her.

"Carrie?"

He reaches out to caress her hair. She looks exhausted in her sleep, curled up into a ball in the middle of an austere bed, and his heart clenches at the sight of dried tears on her face. She is mumbling in her sleep, but he cannot make out the words.

He scans the room for a wheelchair, but there is none, so he carefully gathers her into his arms.

Her eyes snap open, and she instinctively tries to break free and cry out, but he silences her with a brief kiss, hushes her with his mouth touching hers. "Shhh." His breath ghosts over her skin, mingles with hers.

"Yevgeny," Carrie says quietly, taking another look at him. Her eyes wander all over his face, her gaze is hazy, but it brightens at the realization. "I knew it wasn't you," she whispers, clumsily wrapping her arms around him, clinging to him. "I don't want to be here. Get me out of here."

"I'm here to get you out, Carriechka," He whispers into her hair, stroking the unruly strands as he holds her tight. "Can you walk?"

She hesitates for a moment then shakes her head with a tearful grimace, her gaze becoming haunted. "It's those pills they gave me."

He is not sure if this may indeed be true or if it is a result of shock caused by being in such a place again.

"Okay," he says soothingly, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "It's okay. Can you hold onto me?" He picks her up and she locks her arms around his neck.

"I feel so drowsy," she breathes, her forehead falling against the side of his face. "And dizzy."

He grits his teeth, feeling her tears on his cheek.

"We'll be home soon."

In the hallway, he finds a wheelchair and gently lowers her into it, thinking that they will look more inconspicuous like this. Covering her with some blankets, he turns into another corridor just when several people enter the one they just left.

In the elevator, he sends out a pre-prepared text message, attaches an edited sound file, and slips the phone back into his pocket.

xxxhomelandxxx

_"...After a few courses of electroconvulsive therapy she probably won't even remember your name."_

Shifting his gaze between Saul and Dar, his head tilted to the side and propped on his hand, President Hayes reaches out to pause the recording.

"Could someone please explain to me what in the world was that?"

Saul narrows his eyes in a frown. Even though it was not unusual to be summoned to The White House without being told the specific reason for it, the moment he got the phone call, he knew what it was about, even though he was still rather stunned that Yevgeny had the audacity to seek the President of the United States' assistance in this matter.

"That was an attempt to keep the situation under control," Dar says evenly with a trace of exasperation in his voice.

"By unlawfully holding an American citizen in a psychiatric hospital against her will?" The President gives him a questioning look. "And making threats that I don't even know what country or time period they belong to? Surely not the one I live in," he adds in a raised voice, glancing around The Oval Office.

"With all due respect, Sir, but the methods used need to be adjusted to who and what we are dealing with," Saul points out carefully, despite the fact that he made the same objection when Dar came up with this idea.

"Perhaps you should reconsider making adjustments which can't be made without breaking the law," the President retorts dryly.

"This is a very specific situation," Dar observes with a grimace.

"I'm aware. Which still doesn't justify locking someone up in a psychiatric hospital. And to make it all even worse, someone who has done so much for this country."

Saul blinks at that, surprised by the President's tone which indicates that someone, and it is not difficult to guess who, must have told him a conveniently distilled version of Carrie's life story.

"If I may... What makes it all worse is listening to the wrong people, as it may have dire consequences," Dar says slowly, holding the President's gaze. "As you may recall, Yevgeny Gromov orchestrated a scheme to take down Elizabeth Keane-"

"And you were a great admirer of her?" President Hayes cuts in sardonically.

Dar ignores the remark. "The fake news that led to the massacre in Lucasville. It was also him. I could go on for an hour. And just to add a more recent arc, we believe he was behind the death of the previous GRU Director."

"Am I missing something or did you sign off on his arrival here?" President Hayes asks in mock-confusion.

"For obvious reasons. Which does not mean that he should be trusted."

"Do you know what this is called? Dealing with people whom you don't trust and who don't trust you?" The President leans back in his chair, his eyes darting between Dar and Saul. "Politics. It's kind of what I do for a living. You don't need to lecture me on that."

“It wasn't our intention, Sir,” Saul says and frowns when the President makes a face as if he has no doubt it was their intention.

"You know what the problem is? That so far everything they told me turned out to be true, while you keep lying to me or at the very least choose to be keeping me out of the loop."

"It's not like that,” Dar says, his eyebrows knitted in irritation.

Saul glances at him, sensing a storm brewing.

“So please, share your perspective with me and maybe we can work something out. Otherwise, I have to waste my time interpreting strange conversations and having strange conversations with medical directors,” the President pauses and then in response to Saul and Dar's questioning looks clarifies. “Mr. Gromov stormed into the hospital and absconded from there with Ms. Mathison.”

Saul squeezes his eyes shut for a second with a humorless smile. “Of course he did,” He mutters, glancing at Dar, whose expression is dark and unreadable and he knows Dar must already be thinking of something to do, something to not only remedy the current situation but to avenge the failure.

“And what was I to do after hearing all that?” President Hayes continues, pointing to the recording on his desk. “She shouldn't be there to begin with. So I had to call the hospital and make up some odd story to close the case, so to speak.”

Looking between his interlocutors, the President narrows his eyes at them, and makes a waving motion with his hand. “What was that you said about the previous GRU Director's death?”

xxxhomelandxxx

Once they are safely in the car, Carrie starts feeling better, as if the atmosphere of the hospital was holding her down, and the moment she stepped outside, she could breathe more freely. It is only a sense of vague exhaustion and confusion that lingers, and running her hand through her hair, Carrie's eyes keep darting back and forth as if she is trying to get a grip of reality and shake off the remnants of that pills-induced sleep.

“How did you find me?” She suddenly asks, abruptly turning to Yevgeny. It felt unreal to be away from him and now it feels unreal for him to be so close. Clutching his shoulder, Carrie leans toward him to press a kiss to his cheek, to feel his skin under her lips, to feel warm again.

Taking a turn out of the parking lot, Yevgeny gives her a small, lopsided smile, grabbing her hand to press a quick kiss to her knuckles. “I wish I didn't lose you in the first place.”

She shakes her head with a broken smile. “You didn't. How could you know?” She frowns, struck by the thought. “Do you know who did it?”

Yevgeny glances at her before returning his gaze to the road ahead and Carrie's forehead wrinkles in a worried expression.

“Saul?”

“And Dar Adal.”

With a sigh, Carrie throws her head against the headrest. “I did paralyze him with a poison,” she says quietly after a pause.

"Do you think it was some kind of a retribution?" Yevgeny asks with a grimace, reaching out when they stop at a red light, to smooth out Carrie's hair.

She catches his hand and places it on her cheek. "No, I don't think that was it. I don't think it was even Saul's idea. Just that… before... what happened, he wouldn't have agreed to something like that," she says with a pensive frown, closing her eyes, and dozing off for the remaining part of the car ride.

Back home, Yevgeny undresses her and gently places her in the bathtub.

“Do I look like a need a bath?” Carrie asks drowsily, with her eyes closed, drawing up her knees, and resting her chin on them.

She can feel him smile when he trails a couple of kisses across her cheek. “No. But you sound like you need it.”

She smiles weakly and for a few moments seems to get lost in the monotonous sound of running water.

"From now on, you can always do that," she says when Yevgeny starts rinsing and then washing her hair, slowly massaging her scalp with his fingertips.

He laughs briefly under his breath, leisurely spreading the shampoo through the length of her hair. “If only you'd like,” he says, taking the shower head and rinsing her hair again, and an involuntary sigh escapes her at the relaxing sensation of warm water falling over her.

Without opening her eyes, she reaches out for the soap and hands it to him.

“Now, that is a risky idea,” he mutters, squinting.

She chuckles. “I thought that was your plan?”

He does not reply immediately and she is about to open her eyes when she feels him wrap his arms around her. “The plan was to get you home,” he says, kissing her temple.

There is a trace of something so raw in his voice that this utmost concern emanating from his words takes her breath away and she trembles in his arms.

Turning slightly, she opens her eyes to look at him, reaches out to touch his face.

“Your shirt's all wet,” she says with a small smile, stroking the side of his face with her thumb. “You can as well just get in here.” To make her point clearer, she takes the shower head from his hand and turns the flow of water toward him.

He smiles, trying to blink the water out of his eyes. “I really was just trying to-”

Temporarily moving the shower head out of the way, she playfully tugs on his shirt to drag him inside the bathtub.

To her amusement, after sliding his feet out of his shoes, he obliges her by stepping into the water and sitting down, still fully clothed.

"What now?" He asks, gathering her into his arms.

She drapes her arm over his chest and props her chin on his shoulder. "I don't know," she says, stifling a smile. "You tell me."

He narrows his eyes at her in a smile. "I wanted you to relax, unwind, and forget about what happened today," he says, brushing his lips over her forehead.

She pretends to ponder this for a moment. "Okay," she says, holding his gaze with increasing intensity and he drums his fingers down her arm.

Leaning down, he captures her lips in his. When he kisses her, it feels like a question, and she deepens the kiss, pressing herself closer to answer it.

“I feel fine, really,” she whispers breathlessly, drawing back just enough to look into his darkly glimmering eyes. “I thought it was the hospital but...but I think it was being torn away from you, not knowing when I'd see you again, that made me feel so awful.” She shrugs a little at her own unexpected conclusion and smiles when he slides his hand into her damp hair and kisses her fiercely.

He remarks that the water is getting cold, and after leaving Carrie's and his own clothes strewn all over the bathroom floor, Yevgeny picks her up and carry her to the bed.

“That name you called me in the hospital,” Carrie says, suddenly remembering the endearment. “What was it?” She nestles her head into the pillow, studying his face when he hovers over her, his fathomless eyes boring into hers. No matter how many times it happens, it always leaves her breathless, this electrifying connection between them when their eyes lock. She runs her outstretched hands over his back, leisurely wraps her leg around his. “I don't think you used it before.”

“I did,” he says with a warm smile, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Just not out loud.” He presses his lips to hers in a lingering kiss before whispering into her ear. “Carriechka.”

xxxhomelandxxx

The harsh sound wakes Carrie up and her eyes flutter open, as she tries to make sense of the noise. Curled up into Yevgeny, her head snuggled close to his, she gives him a drowsily questioning look when he is also shaken awake.

The insistent knocking on the door continues, accompanied by shouting, although they cannot make out the words.

“Stay here. I'll see what this is all about,” Yevgeny says, brushing his lips against hers before getting up.

“No. I'm going with you,” Carrie says, grabbing a robe and following him out of the room.

It is 4am and she doubts it is anyone from the hospital, as based on what Yevgeny said, the President was informed about what happened, and they should not be bothered regarding that mishap anymore.

When they approach the door, Yevgeny asks her once again to move away from it, but Carrie shakes her head with a frown, clinging to the thought that perhaps something happened in the area and they are just to be warned-

Yevgeny does not even manage to fully open the door when it bursts open and a dozen people storms inside.

Before Carrie can even tell for sure who exactly they are, the words 'you are under arrest' pierce through her ears and she blinks in bewilderment, watching them putting handcuffs around Yevgeny's wrists after surrounding him.

'What is this? What is going on?” She demands, not sure if she missed the reason being given due to shock or if they were not provided with any.

“You have the right to remain silent,” one of the officers continues talking, ignoring her questions, while the others start escorting Yevgeny out of the house. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

Blocking the door seems ridiculous, but Carrie is so appalled and shaken up that she is not quite sure what she is doing. Someone grabs her arms and moves her out of the way, and she catches Yevgeny's gaze, as he silently pleads with her not to get herself in trouble on top of all of this.

“Where are you taking him? On what charges? I want to go with him!” Carrie tries to intervene, but to her dismay her questions are left unanswered and even though she runs outside after them, the cars leave and she is suddenly left standing alone in a cold, empty, sunrise-lit street.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. No idea how to summarize this. Three chapters in one? haha
> 
> There was a part of this chapter that was a little stressful to write, so I guess it may be a little stressful to read too... Consider yourselves warned ;)
> 
> & I guess by now you don't need “this is a long chapter” warnings, but... this is a VERY long chapter (warning)! Lol (I really don't know how it got that long...)
> 
> Also, this chapter's ending is brought to you courtesy of Yevgeny, since when I started writing this chapter, I had no idea it'd end like that ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading & leaving kudos! :) And for all the amazing comments which always make me so very happy!!! :):):)

Carrie rings the doorbell only once, and then proceeds to banging on the door with her fists, causing the lights in the house across the street to go up. Glancing over her shoulder at the orange hue of the morning sky, she thinks that it looks appropriately desolate, despite its incandescent glow.

"Carrie," Sandy greets her with a gasp, opening the door in a robe haphazardly thrown over her shoulders. "What happened?"

Even though she sounds and looks sincerely concerned, Carrie storms past her and starts pacing around the room, having already noticed Saul making his way down the stairs. Sandy gives him a questioning look when he glances at her, but he only frowns in response, so after closing the front door she walks back into the living room, shifting her confused gaze between Carrie and Saul.

"What are you doing?" Carrie asks in an agitated voice, widening her eyes at Saul. She produces a piece of paper out of her pocket that she waves in the air so quickly that Saul cannot tell what it is exactly, especially since Dar did not share with him all the details regarding this new development just yet. "Do you really want Yevgeny to be sent back to Russia?” Carrie asks with an incredulous grimace. “Why?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Sandy seems astonished by this, but causing some friction between her and Saul related to keeping secrets is not something she has time to worry about right now.

"No,” Saul says with a sigh, his eyebrows knitted in a frown. “But Dar and I came to the conclusion that without any incentive to do otherwise, he, you, both of you,” he snorts humorlessly as if he isn't sure which words to use, “will just continue playing your own game, whatever it is, because I honestly don't know anymore. And we can't allow it,” he adds rather sternly, but Carrie can see a glimpse of worry in his eyes, maybe related to the hospital ploy, but she is already past that or at least it does not matter anymore, so she is not going to discuss it right now just to make him feel less guilty about it. “This is more of a way to make him talk,” Saul explains after a pause. “Make him actually defect.” He looks her straight in the eye, as if he expects her to say something, but she doesn't, so he adds. “Hopefully extradition won't have to happen.”

Clenching her jaw, Carrie wonders if it is for better or worse that Saul seems a lot less considerate of her feelings than he used to be. Which of course is probably her fault.

"Yevgeny will not start catering to your whims just because you threaten to extradite him,” Carrie says with a grimace, and there is something in her tone that annoys Saul, a certain kind of admiration that he believes is entirely misplaced. “On what charges you had him arrested? Can you tell me that at least?" She asks angrily.

Sandy contemplates asking her to sit down, so they could talk all of this through, but neither Carrie nor Saul seem in the mood for this kind of a more calm conversation, so she just continues listening to them in silence.

"The murder of Sergei Mirov," Saul says, raising his eyebrows in a grim expression.

To his surprise Carrie winces and snorts brokenly, tucking her hair behind her ears and shaking her head in disbelief. "Okay,” she whispers more to herself than to anyone else, and nods once, looking away, as if pondering this for a second. “Well. Good," she says at last in a resolute tone, biting her lip.

She turns to leave, but Saul stops her.

"Carrie. Where are you going? What are you going to do? There's nothing-"

"I'm going to clear that up,” she blurts out. “Because Yevgeny didn't kill Mirov.” Abruptly turning around, she glares at Saul through the tears glimmering in her eyes. "I did."

Sandy draws a sharp intake of breath, glancing at Saul who blinks in surprise.

“He ambushed me, threatened me, or was about to. So I shot him,” she says with a frustrated shrug, doing her best to keep her voice from quivering as the unpleasant memory flashes through her head. “Yevgeny covered it up,” she adds under her breath, holding Saul's gaze for another moment before heading for the door.

“Carrie, wait,” Sandy reaches out toward her while Saul only follows her with his grim gaze without moving from his spot.

Carrie shakes Sandy's hand off her arm with an apologetic grimace and then shifts her gaze back to Saul. “Maybe you get lucky and have both of us shipped to Lubyanka.”

She is not exactly bluffing, although of course getting locked up alongside Yevgeny right now will not help him at all. Saul must know she knows that as well as him. And yet she hopes that he knows her enough to allow for the possibility of her throwing all caution to the wind and just turning herself in on an impulse.

She already has her hand on the doorknob when Saul catches up with her.

“Wait,” he says, placing his hand flat against the door to keep her from opening it.

Her eyes fixed on the door, she does not immediately turn her gaze to him.

“Will you let me explain?”

“Explain what? Why you don't trust me anymore? I know why. And I don't blame you.” She hesitates for a second, before adding, her voice growing solemn and quiet. “But don't expect me to choose you over him. Because I love him. And he loves me. No matter what I do.”

“I don't,” Saul replies under his breath, giving her a look that reminds her of when he first witnessed her manic episode. “But somehow you still expect me to believe you're going to choose this country over him. Or maybe you still believe it too? Maybe you don't even know what really happened back then, five years ago,” he continues, and Carrie frowns, perplexed, trying to make sense of what he is saying. “Did you choose this country? Or did you choose him? Because... has it ever occurred to you? That what you did could be interpreted either way?”

Carrie exhales sharply, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again, because what Saul says seems overwhelmingly unfair and yet she can see why he may see it that way.

“Maybe you're right. So what?” She says in the most dismissive tone she can muster, trying to push away the pain caused by his words. “Do you want me to apologize for falling in love with him? I'm not going to.”

Saul smiles brokenly. The sadness in his eyes seems to deepen and his voice is almost gentle when he says. “I don't want you to apologize for anything. I'm just explaining-” He stops in mid-sentence as if he has no energy to finish the sentence. “I'm just explaining,” he tries again, “why I now feel the need to protect this country... from you.”

Carrie freezes. The words cut through her like shards of glass hurled her way by a cold gust of wind.

“I see,” she whispers shakily.

“Carrie-”

She pulls the door open and steps outside. The morning light feels out of place and she squints against the sun.

“Is there a bail?” She asks, turning around for what she tells herself is the last time.

Saul regards her in silence for a few seconds before he says. “Three million dollars.”

Carrie snorts derisively and quickly walks away.

xxxhomelandxxx

Wiping the blood off his nose, Yevgeny leans back in his chair, and if Dar Adal expects a comment regarding gratuitous violence toward detainees, he gets none.

"I regret it had to come to this, but you're not the easiest person to talk to," Dar says, taking a seat across from him. "Let's start with Sergei Mirov's death."

He asks a few questions that Yevgeny does not answer, merely staring back at him in silence or looking around the empty interrogation cell with an indifferent expression on his face.

Dar changes the topic, but still does not get a single word in response. "Do you think this kind of attitude will get you out of here?" He asks acerbically, squinting.

Yevgeny tilts his head to the side, giving him a mockingly baffled look. "I'm exercising my right to remain silent. Or was that just a figure of speech?"

"I think you underestimate the strength of evidence against you. It's not just the homicides, since these apparently don't impress you much. It is also turning a blind eye to Carrie transmitting classified information to the US. Speaking of, I'm actually curious. Why did you tolerate that?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Yevgeny replies in a calm tone.

“Did she provide aid and abet to you or was it the other way around?”

Yevgeny smiles a little. “Sounds like you're writing your own narrative there. I'm afraid I can't help you.”

“Did you conspire to execute the following witnesses under the protection of the US Government?” Dar suddenly says, and although his tone remains the same, there is a glint of a keener interest in his eye as he slides a list of the names toward Yevgeny.

He does not look at the list. “I don't know what you're referring to.”

“I don't know if you're aware, but Simone Martin has recently visited Russia pretending to seek a reinstatement while actually being a part of the operation to infiltrate your Government's long-running attempts to dismantle the workings of the CIA's Witness Protection Program.”

Dar pauses, and Yevgeny shrugs in mock-confusion. “Sounds like something you probably shouldn't be telling me, but if you want to, be my guest.”

Leaning forward over the desk, Dar says in a low voice. “Simone has pictures of Carrie visiting a certain bookstore in Moscow. Incidentally, the one from which all the transmitted messages originated. She also has a picture of Carrie picking up a package she left there, which contained the name of the unit Carrie became a part of when she traveled with the Russian delegation to Afghanistan. Depending on context, it is a toss-up between Carrie being played by you or you playing her. The beauty of an intermediary mole is that you can turn the story around which way you please. All the confirmatory evidence can be used to the contrary of itself. Simone can implicate you, or Carrie, ot both of you, or neither of you.”

Yevgeny shakes his head, theatrically nonplussed. “You may need to be clearer, because I really don't understand what you have in mind.”

“What I have in mind is the poetic parallel of you rotting in a Russian prison, and Carrie rotting in an American one. Unless you start actually cooperating.” Dar leans back with a wry grimace. “I'm not sure how much clearer I can make this.”

xxxhomelandxxx

Staring at the e-mail she just wrote, Carrie holds her thumb above the 'send' button, wondering if she should really give this particular idea a try. Perhaps she should wait, try talking to the President or even Dar Adal first. Maybe there is a way to turn all of this around. Maybe there is a deal she could strike in exchange for having Yevgeny released. Or maybe they will release him once they realize he will not start cooperating under such circumstances. But how long would any of such options take? Talking to people and negotiating with them can take a lot of time and what if they are prepared to keep Yevgeny locked up for months or even years? She knows Dar's methods. He would make sure Yevgeny's detention would not consist of leisure activities, and it breaks her heart to think about him getting hurt. If only she could sell their apartment or access their accounts, she could come close to gathering the full required amount. But they got locked out of everything after coming to the USA and the one account in the Cayman Islands she could possibly access would only cover about a quarter of the bail amount.

With a frown, she re-reads the message she wrote and decides there is no harm in trying that. After all, the options include only a straightforward rejection, non-response or a positive answer. And while that last, most desirable option also happens to potentially be most problematic, at least there is an ocean between her and any necessity to deal with the problem of repaying such a loan, so she would have time to figure that out.

She presses the button to send the message and puts the phone away with a sigh.

Looking around the living room, she is horrified by how empty it feels. Years ago, she always found such moments refreshing, sought them out, reveled in them. But now all she feels is that Yevgeny is not here and missing him seems like the only emotion available to her.

She closes her eyes for a few moments to steady her breathing and rises to her feet to take her meds. Since the President is out of state today and Dar does not answer her calls, her plans for today are limited to meeting with a lawyer and trying to come up with a leverage.

When after swallowing the pills Carrie puts the glass away, she feels the phone buzz in her pocket. She pulls it out and frowns at the unknown number at the screen.

“Carrie?” The voice on the other side sounds friendly enough, but for some reason it sends cold shivers up her spine, maybe because she did not expect such a prompt reaction.

“Otto. Hi.” She slumps down into a kitchen chair, her heart skipping a beat. She tries to block, but to no avail, the naive thought that maybe he is going to say he just wired her the full amount that she can pay back any time, and wish her a nice day.

“I got your message.” He pauses and she is about to say something, but then he asks. “Are you in the States?”

Her mouth twitches. “Yes,” she says in a low voice, glancing around the kitchen with unseeing eyes.

“I'm at a conference in Washington D.C. right now.”

“Oh,” Carrie says dully, scolding herself inwardly for her tone that is probably not as enthusiastic as it should be, considering that she reached out to him asking for help. “Me too. I mean... I'm also in Washington.”

“Perfect,” he replies with polite cheerfulness. “Do you have time to meet today?”

She cannot turn it down. In her mind's eye, she already imagines having the full bail amount and the hopeful thought of having Yevgeny out of prison by tomorrow is impossible to resist.

“Yes, of course,” she replies after a moment of hesitation.

“Great,” he says in a fairly lighthearted manner, but there is also a hint of something in his tone that she cannot quite place. “Where should I send the car?”

She says that she will drive to the meeting herself, but in a slightly jocular tone he accuses her of not wishing to even share a glass of wine with him to toast the past, so she gives him the address, trying not to sound too uneasy. When she ends the call, she tosses the phone on the counter as if it scalds her fingers. She does not like asking for help. She also does not like the idea of owing anyone anything. Especially someone who might hold a grudge against her. But as always, the aftermath can be taken care of later, so she jumps to her feet and heads to the meeting with the lawyer first.

xxxhomelandxxx

Dar Adal is still not taking calls from her and she gets a begrudging confirmation from David that the President will not be back for another day and so she spends the rest of the car ride from the law office staring at the wallpaper on her phone. It is a picture of her, Yevgeny, Lev, and Frannie photoshopped into it. At first she objected to the idea. But Yevgeny dismissed her protests by saying it was not fake. It was simply a visual representation of the real future that was yet to come.

The sound of the car door being pulled open for her shakes Carrie out of her reverie. She gets out of the limousine, glancing around to get her bearings and stiffens at the realization they have arrived at a hotel.

On the way inside, she tries to tell herself that perhaps she is getting paranoid, because it is possible this is just the venue where the conference Otto mentioned is taking place. However, the respite she gets from this thought does not last long and soon she is led to a suite on one of the highest floors.

Even if it means nothing, she still considers it rude of him to be meeting her like that without asking her first if it would be alright with her. She hopes she is wrong, but deep down she is worried that his actions are driven by a certain kind of vindictiveness and that he is going to take advantage of this unexpected opportunity to punish her for refusing his undesired business _slash_ marriage proposal all those years ago. It is really too bad he is the only billionaire she knows.

Carrie raises her hand, but the door opens before she manages to knock.

“Carrie. Hi. It's good to see you.”

She forces herself to smile in response while returning his greeting. She is not sure if it is good or bad that he seems exuberant to see her.

“Please, come in. I hope you're hungry.”

She is on the verge of saying that she is not, but stops herself out of politeness at the sight of a lavishly set up table.

“So what kind of a conference is it?” She suddenly feels too tired to talk about anything at all, but forces herself to speak, since a certain amount of small talk seems in order when asking someone for a three million dollar loan.

“It's related to a project to build a chain of art schools across Africa,” Otto replies with a smile, inviting her to sit down, his eyes fixed on her with intensity that makes her feel uncomfortable, but she tries to focus on getting through this conversation. It is just a conversation, after all.

He tells her more about the project and she wonders if he purposefully goes into that much detail despite knowing that she did not come here to chat. Her message was not overly dramatic, but it also made it clear that time was of the essence.

"So whom do you want to bail out?" Otto finally asks and for a second Carrie thinks he seems sincerely concerned. But his expression becomes more detached when she replies.

"My husband." For a few moments, the words feel like a shield, and she wishes this impression could last.

"Yes, I've heard… read somewhere, I think, about your marriage. I wasn't sure it was true." Carrie's forehead wrinkles in slight confusion, which disperses when Otto clarifies, somewhat tauntingly. "You once said you were not cut out for marriage."

_That was a euphemism for 'I don't want to marry you,'_ Carrie thinks with an inward frown. "I guess it's not a rare phenomenon for people to sometimes do things they thought they never might," she says with a brief smile.

For some reason Otto's expression becomes grim at that. "Yes, sometimes it's impossible to predict what we are capable of," he says pensively. "I forgot the wine," he suddenly says, rising to his feet.

He walks past her and she hears him pick up a bottle. She does not look over her shoulder, wondering if it would not be best to just leave. Maybe it was a bad idea to begin with. She should not have ever thought of that. Or at least she should have made sure he was in Germany before emailing him.

Otto places the bottle on the table while standing behind her, and she waits for him to return to his seat. But he doesn't, so she just continues sitting motionlessly, hoping that maybe this weird moment will pass. Then suddenly she feels his hand on her shoulder, weighing her down, like stone.

"You have no idea how much I always wanted you," Otto says in a low voice and Carrie feels all color drain from her face. "Forgive me…" He says in a way that only makes her feel worse, almost petrified, because he sounds like someone past the point of no return. "But when I got your message, all I could think about…" He trails off and she hopes that maybe he will backtrack, but then she realizes he is just trying to find the words that would not sound as despicable as the meaning they are supposed to convey. "I'll transfer the money tomorrow… if you'll stay here until tomorrow."

He slides his hand to where the fabric of her blouse ends, brushes his fingers over the exposed skin of the nape of her neck, and she feels a wave of nausea wash over her.

"I can't," Carrie blurts out, her mind reeling, the words rolling off her tongue out of their own accord in a desperate attempt to just get out of this place. "I have a visit with Frannie set up for today. I can't miss it. She's been looking forward to it all week. I can't let her down."

She wants to hit him, punch him in the face, grab a knife from the table and stab him with it. Yet for some inexplicable reason she is just sitting there, paralyzed, feeling the tears burn the corners of her eyes.

The excuse feels so feeble that she is afraid it will not work and she holds her breath in dismay. She suddenly realizes she does not really know him, that there is severity to him that she only saw glimpses of before, and that she cannot tell if she is actually in danger or not.

Only when he reluctantly draws back his hand, she feels like she can breathe again.

"When do you need to be there?" He asks, apparently trying to sound casual, but there is a hint of discontent in his voice.

Carrie stammers something in response. Jumps to her feet, a little too fast. But he stops her dead in her tracks by offering to drive her to Maggie's house.

They don't speak in the car, but he keeps glancing at her, and she wonders if it is merely to relish in having her trapped, because he thinks she is lying or perhaps she just looks so pale that it warrants concern.

Carrie gets out of the car without looking at him. Her legs feel heavy as she makes her way toward the door of her sister's house. At least someone seems to be home, because the lights are up. Once she gets inside, she can figure something out. Surely 6pm on a weekday is not the best time for an announced visit, but she does not expect Maggie to shut the door in her face.

“Carrie,” Maggie exclaims somewhat surprised at the sight of her.

“Hi. May I come in?” Carrie asks, walking inside in a hurry before Maggie has a chance to reply.

Somewhat confused, Maggie closes the door after her, but before she manages to ask for an explanation, Carrie asks with a smile that she hopes conceals well enough how panic-stricken she feels right now. “Can I take Frannie out for a couple of hours?”

Maggie blinks, slightly widening her eyes at her. "It's a school night, Carrie,” she says, glancing at the clock with a slight frown, as if trying to figure out what she is up to.

There is something acutely familiar about this absurd juxtaposition Maggie somehow always manages to pull off. As if life and death matters are no better than household chores. _Maybe they aren't_ , Carrie thinks wearily. Maybe it's just her askew view of the world that makes her feel differently.

"I know,” Carrie says with a brief smile, trying to sound as calm as possible, which reminds her of the time when she was determined to hide her condition from Saul, from everyone at work. “And I know I should've called first, but… I just didn't even know I'd have time today."

"You can't be showing up here unannounced whenever you've got a minute to spare." Maggie grimaces with a weak, somewhat patronizing smile, crossing her arms over her chest.

Carrie draws a breath. She knows she is in the wrong here. She is lying. And she has an ulterior motif to be here. Yet she wishes she did not have to feel so alone every time she actually needs help. "I didn't mean it that way,” she says quietly.

“Is everything alright?” Maggie asks, regarding her with a worried gaze, Carrie's despondent thoughts apparently showing in her eyes.

She winces a little, because sometimes she does not even know herself how she gets into such messed up situations. She opens her mouth to give a noncommittal reply, but then the sound of footsteps causes her to look toward the stairs.

“Hi!” Frannie runs into the hallway with a grin. “I didn't know you were coming today!” She says so happily that Carrie starts feeling guilty about the entire situation.

But unfortunately she cannot afford dwelling too much on that right now, and at the risk of upsetting Maggie even more, she addresses the question directly to Frannie.

“I thought we could spend some time together today," she says, ignoring Maggie's disgruntled look.

Frannie's eyes light up. "Yes! Of course! Can I go?" She asks, looking at Maggie. "I finished all my homework for tomorrow and even that geography assignment for next week."

Maggie does not look happy about all this, but with Frannie on the verge of bouncing up and down from joy, she decides to give in. "Don't be back late, please."

"Of course," Carrie gasps, relieved. She is going to buy herself a day to think what to do with this newest predicament she brought over herself.

Frannie claps her hands. "Where are we going? What should I wear?"

"This is fine," Carrie says, looking her up and down. "I was thinking about... an ice skating rink?" She says the first thing that comes to her mind.

"I've never been to one! Do you know how to ice skate?"

"A little," Carrie says, narrowing her eyes in a faint smile. "Yevgeny tried to teach me. Not with great success." For a few moments, she feels overcome with nostalgia for their honeymoon, for days without dates and hourless nights.

Saying his name out loud makes her shiver, and when in response to Frannie's question she says that he could not come here today, she is under the impression that Maggie draws the conclusion that they must have had a fight. Would she believe they have never had a real one? Not one which would linger, like a shadow over them, tainted by harsh words which could not be unsaid.

She suddenly wonders what Yevgeny is going to say. What is she going to tell him? But it seems premature to worry about that since she does not even know what exactly she is going to do.

Frannie is not surprised by a friend driving them to an ice-skate rink, but when Otto offers to pick them up later on, Carrie is amazed by her ten-year-old daughter picking up on her reaction to his words, on her body going rigid next to her, in the backseat of the car where they are sitting next to each other.

"My uncle will pick us up on his way back from work," Frannie says so conversationally that Carrie wonders if she is not telling the truth, after all. "And then I need to show you my geography project." With that, Frannie grabs her hand and Carrie makes the greatest effort to blink back the tears in her eyes.

Her hands must feel very cold to the touch, and Frannie shots her a worried look. Otto tries to make conversation, but Frannie cuts it rather short by saying she does not remember Germany at all.

"Who was that?" Frannie asks, glancing up at Carrie after Otto leaves them at the artificial ice rink, and once they are inside the building.

"A friend," Carrie repeats in a hollow voice, and remains by the window, watching the parking lot until his car is out of sight.

They walk across the hallway to borrow the skating gear, and Carrie tries to regain her composure, but when they are near the ice rink, putting their skates on, she suddenly breaks into tears.

"I'm sorry," she says when Frannie tries to comfort her. "It's just that I tried to solve a problem, but the solution seems worse than the problem itself, and I don't really know what to do." Sharing all that with Frannie seems ridiculous, but somehow it makes Carrie feel better and also seems like the right thing to do, to actually tell her daughter the truth.

Frannie seems to ponder this for a second. "Can't you find a different solution?"

Carrie smiles through her tears. "Actually, you're helping me with that right now."

"How come?"

"I lied. I didn't come, so we could hang out. I came, because it gave me an excuse, bought me some time to think."

Wiping the tears off her face with the backs of her hands, Carrie shrugs with a sad grimace. She does not know if Frannie needs this truth, but there is something soothing about not keeping it from her. To Carrie's astonishment, Frannie leans her head on her shoulder.

"I'm glad you came anyway. And I lied too. I remember two things from Germany," Frannie says after a pause, straightening up. "The balloons that looked like animals and how we once ran across the streets, in the rain, between the cars, and they were all honking really loudly and a truck nearly ran over us."

Carrie shifts her eyes to her and blinks. "I hope Maggie only heard about the animal-shaped balloons."

Frannie laughs. "Yes. But that other memory is _way_ more fun."

They share a smile.

The ice skating does not go too well, but they manage to keep each other from falling down and Carrie finds that teaching someone actually makes her pay more attention to what she herself is doing. For a few moments, she manages to forget about everything else, but after they cross the glimmering surface of the ice rink a few times, her phone rings.

After steadying herself against the side of the rink, Carrie glances at the number on the screen before picking up, hoping for some good news at the end of this day.

"I have to say, I'm impressed," the lawyer whose help she enlisted says with a little laugh. "That was fast. Can you be there in an hour?"

"Be where?" Carrie asks, confused.

"To pick up your husband," the lawyer replies, apparently considering her tone a result of exhaustion. "The bail payment has come through." He pauses, and for a few moments strains his ears as all he hears is silence. "Carrie?"

"Yes, yes, of course, thank you. I just didn't know if it'd come through... today. So I can pick Yevgeny up right now?"

"Yes. Since the bail was set in a non-standard way, I blocked their attempts to push the standard release time to 72 hours, so you can go right away. Call me in case of any problems."

"Okay." She nods and ends the call.

For a few moments, she scans her surroundings with unseeing eyes, wondering if she should verify what happened. Before she makes up her mind, she gets a text message from Otto asking if the transfer came through alright, even though he must know it did. She writes back, almost painfully clenching her teeth while typing the words 'thank you'. She wonders why he texts instead of calling and decides that it's probably because he wants to keep these messages.

Carrie takes Frannie's hand in hers, and they leave the rink, and start taking their skates off when another message arrives, which makes it clear that the reason for such a prompt transfer was not Otto's conscience, but rather fear that she would refuse it and his leverage would be gone. The second message says 'dinner at?' and contains the name of a restaurant, date: tomorrow, and time: 8pm. She does not want to waste time thinking about that right now, so she writes back: 'ok,' and deletes the message.

"So… Yevgeny went to jail instead of you? That's nice," Frannie concludes with a smile after Carrie explains to her why they need to leave the ice rink early. “I mean, it's not nice he went to jail. But it's nice he went there instead of you. Who is that?" Frannie gives her a questioning look after catching a glimpse of the background picture on Carrie's phone.

Carrie smiles wistfully. "That's… your brother, Leo."

Frannie's eyes widen in surprise. "I have a brother?" She asks with a grin, and Carrie wonders if and when she should tell her about her other siblings… On the one hand, she had the right to know, but on the other hand, they probably did not know she existed either.

"Where is he?" Frannie asks, peering up at her.

"He's in Russia. With Yevgeny's parents."

"He couldn't come here with you?"

"No." After a moment of consideration, Carrie decides on the simplest answer, which also makes her realize how complicated all that is to explain, especially to a child.

Squinting, Frannie says somewhat amused. "How am I in this picture anyway?"

Carrie snorts weakly. "Yevgeny edited it, so it'd look like we are all together here."

"I like it," Frannie says, once again catching Carrie off guard with her positive and nonjudgmental attitude. "Can you send it to me? I'll put it on my phone too."

Since they have about an hour, they take a taxi home and Carrie drives them to prison in her car. They wait in a hallway, Frannie following Carrie with her eyes as she is pacing around the limited space. It is probably a horrible idea to have Frannie come here with her, and she is sure Maggie would be appalled if she ever found out. But first of all, Frannie wanted to come, and secondly, the longer they wouldn't be alone with Yevgeny, the less time they would have to talk about the bail... at least today. And maybe by tomorrow she can put together a noninflammatory explanation.

Carrie stops in her tracks when she notices Yevgeny heading their way, and launches herself toward him, falling so hard into his arms that she is sure he is going to see right through her mood. She buries her face in his neck, exhales hard when he locks his arms around her, and smiles against his skin when he whispers into her ear a few loving words in Russian.

"I don't think anyone has ever got out of here that fast," Yevgeny says, drawing back to look at her. "How did you do that?"

Carrie shrugs, half-turning to take Frannie's hand in hers. "Frances said she'd get this sorted out, and here we are."

Frannie laughs, and Yevgeny plays along by courteously thanking her with a formal smile that makes her giggle.

They drive Frannie home, and Carrie does not know if it is actually worrisome or not that she is sure Frannie will not tell Maggie about their prison stop-off even without being asked not to. She does not feel great about being an absentee mother who is more or less directly encouraging her child to lie. But apparently it's just been that kind of day.

Frannie insists on showing them her geography project and Carrie is quite amazed by the ease with which Yevgeny and Frannie get into a conversation with each other. Yevgeny points out a few things that could be added, and Carrie leaves them alone for a few minutes to apologize to Maggie who seems less upset than she was earlier. She interrupts Carrie's apology and asks her to just give her a call a day before if she would like to take Frannie anywhere.

Carrie falls asleep in the car on their way home and wakes up only when Yevgeny unfastens her seat belt. She smiles when he gathers her into his arms to carry her inside the house.

In the bright lights of their living room, she notices several bruises, and frowns, tentatively touching the side of his face with her fingertips. "What happened?"

'I'll live," he says with a wink and kisses her.

They take a shower and get into bed, the soothing scent of hot water and soap lingering in the air.

Carrie rests her head on Yevgeny's shoulder and starts tracing abstract patterns on his chest while his lips skim over her hair. He tells her about Dar Adal's attempt at an interrogation, and together they wonder if there will be a follow-up to that Saul and Dar's stunt or did they perhaps push the boundaries of authority too far taking advantage of President Hayes' absence.

“So what else did he say?” Carrie asks under her breath, when Yevgeny stops in the middle of one of the sentences and it makes her think that maybe there was something else, something more that Dar Adal said that Yevgeny has not mentioned yet.

But he changes the subject, and she decides to let it go for now, They fall silent and she closes her eyes.

"Carrie... how did you pay the bail?" Yevgeny suddenly asks in a low voice.

Carrie stiffens a little, caught off guard by the question, already assuming he would not bring this topic up today again.

He must have requested the copy of wire details, she is sure of that, so he either knows or will know soon, and regardless of whether the originator of the wires was Otto Düring or The Düring Foundation, she will still need to explain it somehow. And it is not that she is not planning to tell him what happened... it is just that she does not know what to say exactly or how... and so out of sheer exhaustion, she goes for a rather flimsy option of pretending to be asleep.

Her face nestled up against his chest, she is surreptitiously breathing in his scent, trying to really fall asleep.

He stops the movement of his hand, but only for a few moments and she guesses he must be looking at her to see if she is asleep. She makes sure to keep her breathing stready when he resumes caressing her hair, and even manages not to tremble when he presses a light kiss to her forehead. His fingers get lost in her hair, slowly combing through them in an irregular manner, and she sighs softly at how soothing it feels.

“Do you know...” He speaks under his breath and she braces herself to hear something that he apparently does not intend for her to hear if he presumes her to be asleep. But then her breath catches in her throat when he continues, “that there is a syncopated rhythm to your heartbeat in the interim between you drifting off to sleep and being asleep?”

He murmurs the words against her temple and his arms are so warm around her that she finds it hard not to smile. She lets her eyes flutter open and slowly tilts her head backwards to look up at him. “Is that based on some official electrocardiogram test results?”

“No,” Yevgeny replies, his eyes lighting up in a faint, lop-sided smile. “It's based on you sleeping in my arms night after night.” He leans down to kiss her and Carrie thinks it may either be her cue to avoid the discussion tonight, after all, or perhaps it is just his method of encouraging her to speak.

But if it is the latter, he apparently decides it is not working, because he breaks the kiss when it starts growing more heated, and gently runs his fingers across her face, over her shoulder, down her arm.

“Frannie said you seemed sad and uncomfortable today,” he says in a low voice, studying her face.

Carrie frowns, and slowly pulls herself to a sitting position. “You were debriefing a ten-year-old about me?” She asks in mild amusement, but her half a smile does not quite reach her eyes.

Yevgeny snorts weakly, straightening up to sit up as well, bringing himself closer to her. “I just asked her if she thought you looked sad," he explains, tucking a strand of hair behind Carrie's ear. "Because you did look sad to me,” he adds, regarding her carefully.

“And what did she say exactly?” Carrie asks, even though the question must probably sound like she wants to adjust her answer to his.

“That a friend upset you,” Yevgeny replies in a more focused tone, slightly narrowing his eyes at her.

She shakes her head with a soundless huff, looking away, before shifting her eyes back to him. “Okay. I'd really rather have this conversation tomorrow,” she says in a quiet, serious voice, pushing her hair behind her ears.

“Why?”

“Well, because I don't want to talk about it today,” Carrie says with frown, and out of nervousness, automatically turns around to slide off the bed.

But before she manages to get away, Yevgeny wraps his arms around her from behind, and pulls her into a tight embrace, her back colliding with his chest.

"Don't run from me, Carrie," he whispers into her hair, dipping his head to kiss her neck.

"I don't." She glides her open palms over his arms and hands. "I don't."

She turns around or maybe he whirls her back to face him and their lips meet in a fiery kiss. It suddenly makes no sense at all, to keep anything from him, if he already permeates every inch of her, seeps through her bones, runs in her veins. His hands roam over her back, crashing her to him. He presses his mouth to her shoulder when she starts trailing kisses across his neck.

It occurs to her, and it is the strangest thing, that there was something purifying about how upset she felt today. So many times, in situations when she let her feelings, her self-esteem to be trampled on, she felt completely numb, as if at an unidentifiable point in the past she crossed some mysterious line beyond which nothing personally related to her really mattered. She became a pawn in her own game. And she never thought it was something that could or needed to be fixed. She was not supposed to care if she got hurt. It was a sad flaw, her bizarre strength, a black hole within her sucking in all the pain, but leaving her desensitized, scarring her from the inside.

But now, all of a sudden it is gone. That black hole. It does not exist anymore. And she is not willing to heedlessly throw herself into the fire. Now the flames burn, and to her astonishment, no longer is she numb to her own pain.

Stunned by this unexpected revelation, she must look overwhelmed, because Yevgeny cups her face in his hands, his eyes searching hers. He looks worried and so on an impulse she decides to tell him the truth. He hugs her close as she snuggles up into him, and rests her head in the crook of his neck before beginning to speak.

She thinks that maybe telling the truth should not feel like an experiment... But she finds herself curious to see what is going to happen if she tries not to hide anything.

"I borrowed the money for the bail from my former boss. In the asylum, I must've mentioned something about working as the Head of Security in Germany? Anyway. I didn't know he was in the US right now. I thought he was in Europe. I sent him an email and expected a yes or no reply or a video call at most. But coincidentally, he happened to be at a conference right here in Washington, so I went to see him.” She is surprised how many words it takes to tell the truth. She is not sure they are all needed, but maybe that is exactly the point. Not to select anything. Not to filter.

Yevgeny does not spell it out, but out of the corner of her eyes she Carrie see this question flicker through his mind, his eyebrows knitting in a concerned frown. _"Why would he lend you three million dollars?"_

"I saved his life once," she says, as if it was the real reason. Or maybe in a way it was, because she did count on him to help her out of a mixture of lingering affection and sentimental gratitude. "There was an assassination attempt- Well, it turned out that I was the actual target of it, but he could've get killed all the same, so I guess it still counts." A flicker of a humorless smile passing through her face looks more like a grimace. "He offered me a different job, running the Foundation with him, I don't know in what way or on what terms exactly, because I never asked. I didn't want to stay overseas. I just wanted to go home." She pauses, and then adds. "That, and there was a catch. A completely out of the blue one at that. In addition to becoming his business partner, he also wanted me to marry him."

Pulling them into a sitting position, Yevgeny cups her face in his hands. "Has anything happened today, Carrie?" He asks with utmost concern, and it suddenly seems preposterous to her that she was ever worried about him possibly thinking that what happened was her fault. His eyes boring into hers, he asks after a pause with a trace of something dangerous in his voice. "Did he hurt you?"

Carrie shakes her head. "No. He just… started saying things, I freaked out, and said that Frannie was waiting for me." Yevgeny acknowledges her words with a nod, but his gaze remains intent, and she can sense the wheels in his head turning, so she adds. "I think we've got enough murder charges to deal with.” It feels so far away now, that moment of genuine dread. She feels like she could forget it right away.

"Then one more won't make that much of a difference," Yevgeny retorts tonelessly and she is not entirely sure he does not mean it. "Why would you not tell me about this?"

"I did want to tell you," she says with a grimace. "Just… maybe not today. I didn't want to upset you."

He gives her an incredulous look. "Upset me? Well, I am upset. That you put yourself in harm's way for me. They would've let me go, eventually. I could've stayed there for some time, I'm not made out of glass.”

"I know," she says with a grimace, her eyes darting between his eyes and lips. "But I missed you."

Yegeny stifles a broken smile, reasing his forehead against hers. "After the second or third hour of me being gone?"

Carrie smiles. "After five minutes."

He captures her lower, then her upper lip in between his, kissing her in what feels like slow motion, and she feels the warmth spread from the kiss through her entire body up to her toes and the tips of her fingers.

"Do you still want to know what that scheme pertaining to the CIA's Witness Protection Program is about?"

Her eyes fly wide open and she wonders if he wishes to distract her or maybe it has something to do with Dar implying that Simone could implicate either or both of them. Or perhaps he just wants to tell her the truth about something, because she did.

“There is a list of people from that Witness Protection Program who are supposed to... disappear.”

“Why?” Carrie asks, wincing a little, anchoring her hands on his shoulders to lean closer. "I mean, they've already said and done all they decided to. Are these supposed to be some sort of vindictive executions?”

“No.” Yevgeny shakes his head with a grimace, his forehead wrinkling in a frown, and Carrie gives him an expectant look. “They're supposed to look like a covert operation orchestrated by the US. To discourage such collaborations in the future. And for the purpose of some negative publicity. Because it'd be leaked to the media that the US Government kills such people once they cease to be useful.”

Carrie almost recoils at that, looks away with a grimace. She does not want to waste this moment, but she also does not know what to say. She wanted the truth regarding that scheme, and here it is, yet there is not much to be drawn from it other than the pain. It is strange, but she does not feel disappointed or betrayed, as if this grey space between black and white has grown so vast that she can no longer see either shore, just the two of them in between.

She can feel his eyes roving about her face. "It's not going to work, is it?" She says tonelessly, after a longer moment of silence, her eyes drifting back to him in the semi-darkness of the room.

"What's not going to work?" He asks under his breath, instinctively leaning toward her.

"Being… on the same side,” Carrie replies quietly, moving closer to him, reaching out with one hand to touch his face. “Because it's not the same side,” she says with a sad smile and an erratic shrug. "It will never be the same side. And even if we managed to do a thing or two for...” she trails off and then says with a hint of sad scorn in her voice, “the common good, we'd still need to keep doing those... homeland-specific things to keep up the charade... only that it's not really a charade anyway, is it? I don't think... I don't think there is a solution to that.”

“What are you saying?” Yevgeny asks, and only when he speaks she realizes his arms are already around her and he is drawing her to him.

“I don't know," she whispers in all sincerity, a few tears rolling down her cheeks when she tries to smile. "Just that… there is no solution to it."

Carrie exhales shakily. Maybe contrary to what Yevgeny's father tried to argue, there are sides, after all, not just angles. And maybe contrary to the fleeting illusion they shared for a while, it is not possible to be on both sides at the same time. Or maybe this illusion itself was just a comforting, convenient thought they made up...

Placing his palms on either side of her face, Yevgeny brushes the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs, looks at her in such a way that it feels like a star-lit sky crashing down.

"Maybe..." he starts in a whisper that comes out a little hoarse, echoes across her skin, sending tremors through her.

His face is warm to the touch when she cups his cheeks in her hands, leans in to kiss him, her lips trembling against his, the kiss eliciting an iridescent vibration, a blinding, deafening wave of sultry silence and light which washes over them. She suddenly thinks of something that she has somehow never realized before. That he always seems to adjust to her mood the way in which he kisses her.

Sliding his outstretched fingers into her hair, he drags his lips across her skin, presses open-mouthed kisses to the side of her face. "There is a solution." His breath ghosts over her when he murmurs the words before brushing his lips near the corner of her eye, over her eyelids.

She draws a breath and holds it, her lips slightly parted as she waits for what he is going to say. But before he says anything more, he kisses her again and she slides her hands over his shoulders, wraps her arms around his neck to bring herself closer to him, even though there is no more space between them as he is kissing her tenderly while holding her tightly in his arms.

"What's the solution?" She whispers breathlessly, her lips grazing over his as she speaks.

His forehead falling against hers, he opens his eyes, and she is swept into the dark sea of his gaze when he says."We both choose the same side."

The words shimmer between them like stars at the end of the world, and she marvels at the agonizing beauty of this indefatigable thought, their private original sin, two sides of the same love.

“Okay.” She draws another breath, kisses him back when he presses his lips to hers. “Which one?”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a really strange week (I mean for me, although Carrie & Yevgeny are also dealing with stuff, of course ;) so for a change, this is going to be a relatively short chapter. While we're at it, I guess I can also say that this story is going to have *about* 30 chapters… and that I finally picked an ending ;)
> 
> And I actually have a comprehensive summary for this chapter! Yay! Here you go: (lots of) pillow talk, (some) gratuitous violence, and a late night surprise visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading, for all of your beautiful comments and kudos! :):):) They all mean the world to me :):):)

Lying in bed wide awake, her mind reeling, she wonders if that is how Yevgeny was feeling when they started their life together in Moscow. Did he spend many a sleepless night pondering her intentions? Or did he not worry about that all? Did he ever really believe that she disconnected herself from her past life? Or was the unwavering suspicion that she did not just a calculated risk he was prepared to take?

Her eyes wandering aimlessly around the dark room, Carrie marvels at the comfort of his embrace, his face buried in her hair. She once asked him, a month after they moved into their Moscow apartment, when she noticed this habit of his, if he could breathe freely like that. He just smiled, and replied something in Russian, which she did not know well enough at the time, so having memorized his words, she set to translating them on the next day, and arrived at what sounded like a quote, although she never traced it back to any actual poem: _You are the air that I breathe in and the noose around my neck, My first life, and my last death_.

Squinting into the darkness, Carrie clasps her hand around Yevgeny's arm draped over her. Would it feel that safe, that soothing, if she didn't trust him? And if she trusts him then why does she keep overanalyzing it, searching for an ulterior motive? For such a long time, she was hoping for this to happen, but now that it actually seems to be happening, she cannot help questioning it. And even if it is not true, in the conventional understanding of the word, how is it any different anyway, from all those previous months and years when they would be more or less clandestinely hanging onto their respective agendas?

Maybe this ironic parallel is her punishment for starting this prizeless tournament. If she is the one who started it... How much easier it would have all been (and how horrifying this thought is) if she really defected five years ago? She could have sold her soul in exchange for a perfect life, perfect love. Many people sell their souls for much less.

Turning onto her other side, Carrie snuggles her head into the pillow, reaching out to lightly stroke the side of Yevgeny's face with her fingertips. It occurs to her that she has never thought before just how vulnerable people are in their sleep and how much trust it actually takes to fall asleep by someone's side.

_"Which one?"_ She asked last night. _"Yours,"_ he replied and the very pronoun seemed to contradict his answer. Or perhaps he meant for it to underline the rationale for his choice. Which she suspects may actually have more to do with Dar Adal's pile of incriminating evidence rather than a romantic gesture. Would asking Dar for details regarding their conversation to compare them with what Yevgeny told be a form of betrayal? Or would that fit in just fine with all other strange aspects of their situation? It almost surprises Carrie to realize that she has never really wondered about such things before. When she started working toward establishing her network in Russia, when she was recruiting assets and gathering information, when she commenced her communication with Saul. None of it felt like a betrayal, because the way she saw it: she was not betraying Russia because it was not her country, and she was not betraying Yevgeny because she loved him. Perhaps the underlying logic of it, especially in regard to Yevgeny was a little sketchy, but somehow it always made perfect sense to her, and his reaction to discovering her shenanigans seemed to further validate that. Which, paradoxically, was the beginning of this strange sense of discomfort that she just could not shake off.

Her forehead wrinkling in a frown, Carrie stifles a sigh, mulling over the thought that for some reason the less secretive they are becoming with each other, the more uncomfortable it feels to be keeping any secrets. And it is not possible for either for them to live like that.

But the strangest revelation of all, something that she did not see coming, is that nothing tastes as much of a betrayal as apparently succeeding in turning him.

“ _The most dangerous moment comes with victory,”_ Saul greeted her with a Napoleon's quote after her first successful independent assignment. She did not really believe it then. She is not sure she believes it now. Mostly, she does not want to think much about Saul right after he made it rather clear he now considers her an enemy of the state. But the fact remains that gaining the upper hand feels surprisingly more complicated than navigating one's way through the shadows.

Lifting her head, Carrie presses her mouth to Yevgeny's lips, eliciting a murmur from him.

"You haven't done that in a while," he says under his breath, slowly opening his eyes.

For a brief, abstract moment she wonders if he was listening to her thoughts... Years ago, on their way to Syria he once told her that he could if she let him, and she feels like she is on the verge of just that.

"I'm quite sure I kissed you yesterday,” Carrie says, raising an eyebrow in a dubious expression.

Yevgeny gives her a faint, lopsided smile, reaching out to push strands of hair off her eyes. "I meant waking up in the middle of the night. You didn't have a bad dream, did you?"

"No." She smiles back, letting him gather her into his arms. "I was just wondering… about you."

He seems rather amused by the divulgence. "Any conclusions?"

"None to share. But I have a question."

Twirling her hair around his fingers, he makes a throaty sound, prompting her to speak.

She draws a breath, sliding her leg over his to feel closer to him despite or perhaps because the bluntness of the question. "What's your plan now?"

He narrows his eyes at her. "My plan? I thought you'd be happy," he says with a straight face, which reminds her of Kohat, of when he seemed nonplussed by her apparent assumption that he would help her. Except that now there is a twinkle in his eye.

"Right," she replies, squinting. "Impeccable timing too," she adds on an impulse, not sure where she is going with this conversation, but finding it all the more irresistible to continue because of it.

"What do you mean?" He asks in the same, still mildly amused tone, lazily running his hand up and down her thigh.

"The covert operation is burned, some secret killings the Kremlin might not be too happy with are out. It seems like a reasonable context to pretend to really switch sides." She props her head on an elbow, speaks slowly enough to keep her breathing steady. It feels like a fever rising somewhere inside her, but she cannot really tell if it is ignited more by her own words or by his touch when he grasps her leg, shifts it upwards and keeps it there.

"I've never said anything about switching sides," he says in a low voice, his gaze gliding over her face with such intensity that she feels as if the warmth suddenly spreading over her skin is emanating directly from his eyes. "I was talking about syncing the direction of our actions."

"For how long?" She breathes, moving her hand to comb her fingers through his hair.

He smiles, and for a few seconds just looks at her. Then, without a warning, pulls her underneath him and positioning his arms on either side of her head, hovers over her.

"And how would you figure that out if it wasn't me?" He asks, brushing his lips along her jawline.

"But it is," she replies quietly. Because it is true, but also because methods of verifying the reliability of an asset are rather confidential.

"I'm afraid that's the only approach we haven't tried yet, so if we're to give it a chance, you need to change your perspective."

"My perspective of what?"

The question drowns in a kiss, his mouth molding against hers, thoroughly, unhurriedly, until all fears and uncertainties are reduced to a harmless blur.

"We can't work separately. We can't work together,” he whispers aginst her lips in between labored breaths. “Let's try working _against_ each other. Let the better one win,” he adds almost as an afterthought, with a hint of something in his voice that she cannot quite decipher beyond a thin layer of bittersweet humor.

Slightly confused, she opens her mouth to speak, but he interrupts the attempt by kissing her again.

Smiling into the kiss, she wraps her arms around him. "If this is your idea of antagonism...”

His lips trailing kisses across her face, grazing her ear, he sounds sincerely curious when he asks. "Don't you ever separate these? Russia and I."

_All the time,_ she thinks somewhat surprised. "Don't you?"

"Yes, usually," he admits after a pause. "I try not to think of you when I do what I know you wouldn't like."

"Something against my country." She does not mean for this to sound accusatory, but it probably comes out this way. She holds her breath when he lifts his head to look at her.

"Something for my country," he counters, his tone simultaneously gentle and unyielding, and she pulls his face to hers, holding it in her hands while kissing him fiercely, trying to repress this overwhelming sense of some odd, incomprehensible emotion which seems to be made out of elation and sadness blended together, impossible to separate.

"It's easy for you to propose," she murmurs against his lips when she breaks the kiss to draw a breath. "You've won once already."

"I won?" He smiles against her skin, dragging his lips across her cheek. "Really?" He gives her a long look, as if actually expecting her to acknowledge her apparent mistake. "You unraveled the mystery," he finally says in response to her questioning look. "In a couple of days, you got the answer that dozens of people were trying to find for years. And by doing that you single-handedly stopped the nuclear war. If anyone won then, it was you."

Carrie frowns, struck by a fleeting thought that she tries to catch to take a better look at it, but it escapes her. There is something that he does not say, and she feels like it is somehow hidden in the very words he just said. It sends a tremor through her, this strange, ephemeral conviction that she just got the answer to a riddle she could no longer recall what it was all about. Or maybe she just never knew this was _the_ riddle at all.

She has never thought about it this way. On their prolonged journey from Ramallah to Moscow, during their rutilant stay in Turkey, fragile first months in Russia, their spellbinding honeymoon, and the mesmeric, perilous days, weeks, months, years of their intertwined lives. She was so immersed first in pain and guilt, then in love, in anxiety that not once did it occur to her that the moment he refused to let go of her was the moment he lost, because he chose her over everything he lived for.

The realization feels icily cold, yet it burns through her skin, through her bones. No, he would not choose her over his country. But if it ever came to that choice, he would choose her over himself, and that would be so much worse.

She shakes her head, dazed by the pain, quickly pushing away this unimaginable thought. “No, I didn't.”

Or maybe she is wrong. Maybe he would not. She clings to the thought so hard it brings tears into her eyes. Maybe he is playing her, manipulating her. Maybe he is safe.

“When they arrested you, I went to Saul,” Carrie says in an abrupt attempt to reverse the direction of this conversation. “Do you know what he told me? That he needed to protect this country, from me,” she winces and snorts in derision. “That he needed to protect my country, from me.”

Without saying anything, Yevgeny leans down and presses his lips to the corner of her mouth and she shivers, suddenly realizing that she has not changed the direction of the conversation at all, that she is merely confirming his diagnosis of the choice they do not have.

And as breathtakingly sad as it is, it also feels cathartic to be putting her thoughts regarding this decaying feeling inside her into words, which just tumble out of her like forgotten tears. “And I've _never_ endangered this country, you know,” her voice quivers, and she chokes on the words, on this bizarre, hysterical confession of this non-secret he must have known all along.

Rolling onto his side, Yevgeny cradles her in his arms and she is transfixed by the look in his eyes that makes her dig her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood.

“I almost drowned my daughter. I had Brody arrested for treason. Quinn had a brain hemorrhage, because I forced the doctors to wake him up, so I could ask him a couple questions.” It feels like she is speaking faster and faster, unable to stop. “I've endangered... everyone and everything. For this country. Because of this country. Yet somehow I can't be trusted because- because there was that one time when the incidental side effect of doing everything for this country was a glimpse of actual happiness. And it's not supposed to work that way, is it? We're supposed to always be in pain. Only then it counts. Only then it's okay.” Carrie draws a shaky breath and asks with a grimace. "And you knew that from the very beginning, right?"

Yevgeny does not say anything for a few moments, just traces the contour of her face with his fingertips. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and warm and it tiptoes into each corner of her soul. "I don't think I've really been in pain or really okay until I met you."

And so the question floats to her like a feather made out of darkness and thoughts passing soundlessly between them. It seems to span across time and space, sparkle with dust of shattered illusions falling over them.

"So how does it end?" She asks hollowly, studying his face.

He smiles brokenly, kisses her, and she kisses him back, as ardently as she can. When they draw apart, he places his finger over her lips in a hushing gesture, slightly shakes his head. “It doesn't,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, and she holds her breath, caught in between a sense of hope and despair when he adds. “But some things will have to end, so _this_ ,” he presses a soft kiss to her lips, “doesn't.”

xxxhomelandxxx

Their middle of the night conversation with Yevgeny leaves Carrie feeling exhausted in such a strange way that she regrets not being able to just sleep through the next day and wake up in a less confusing reality. But unfortunately, it seems that not a single day can remain entirely uneventful.

Glancing at herself in the mirror on her way out of the house, she stops for a second, caught off guard by the look in her eyes that betrays nothing. Neither the exhaustion, nor the confusion. It is as if everything could be indeed controlled by one's resolve. Or at least everything that other people can see. Squinting at her own reflection she thinks to herself that Yevgeny is absolutely right. Other people can only read your mind if you let them. It is just a transient thought but it makes her smile.

Otto does not look surprised to see her when she enters the restaurant, and this alone would bother her if it did not agree so well with her recent ruminations. In the artificial lights which keep the restaurant look very bright, her hair and make-up must look even more incongruous, and she is sincerely puzzled by how easy it is to pull off a version of her that does not exist. These kind of things ought to be harder.

She says very little in this movie-like scene, which is only going to end well because she decided to subvert a couple of tropes.

Her eyes fixed on the glass of sparkling water, Carrie only shifts her gaze to the side when all of a sudden Yevgeny slumps into a chair next to hers. She meets his blazing gaze, her eyes widening in apparent surprise. She also does her best to look somewhat afraid.

Shifting his eyes between them, Otto looks as if he wants to wait to see what is going to happen before deciding to say anything.

A waitress comes up to them and asks Yevgeny if he would like anything to drink or eat. "Just the bill, please, thank you," he replies, handing the waitress more than the anticipated amount, and then shifting his glare to Otto.

"We were just-" Otto starts, but Yevgeny cuts him off.

“This is a confirmation of the wire transfer made five minutes ago,” Yevgeny says flatly, sliding a piece of paper toward Otto. “The principal amount _plus_ the interest payment,” he adds sardonically, but the brief smile does not reach his eyes. “It seems all is settled now.”

Otto nods with a frown, clearly rattled and uncomfortable. When he finally makes up his mind to say something, Yevgeny interrupts him once again.

"If you ever come within fifty miles of my wife again, I _will_ kill you," he says in a flat, firm tone as if settling a feud over some trifling matter. Rising abruptly to his feet, he grabs Carrie's wrist, with no consideration for her high heels, causing her to stand up so quickly, she would have probably lost her balance if it was not for his steely grip around her hand. "Is that clear?"

Otto blinks and stands up as well, his facial expression a mixture of actual trepidation but also irritation. “I really feel like that was a very rude and unwarranted intrusion, “ he says, glancing at Carrie, trying to regain his composure and appear indignant and aloof.

“I see,” Yevgeny says with a sigh, tilting his head to the side. “Not clear enough then.”

Without letting go of Carrie's hand, he suddenly swings his other arm and punches Otto straight in the face, causing several people in the restaurant to cry out at the unexpected commotion when the blow results in Otto stumbling backwards and inadvertently sending some tableware crashing to the floor. Carrie flinches, giving Yevgeny a genuinely stunned look, but says nothing as he pulls her with him toward the door.

They cross the parking lot in silence, and only once they are both inside the car, Carrie exhales, tilting her head to the side while pressing her head agains the headrest.

“I think that last part was not included in the original plan,” she says with a small smile flitting across her face.

“Really?” Yevgeny gives her a mockingly surprised look. “I'd swear it was.” His gaze lingers on her before he glances away and starts the engine.

Snorting under her breath, Carrie leans toward him and presses a kiss to his cheek.

He smiles faintly, turning his head to look at her. “I'm glad you told me,” he says in a low voice, cupping one of her cheeks in his hand.

She shrugs. “Yeah, I thought I'd save you the trouble of going through my phone, spying on me, and all that.” She falls silent, and for a few moments just looks into his eyes while he strokes the side of her face with his thumb. “I'm glad I told you too. I wish... I wish it'd be possible to always tell you everything,” she says with a wistful smile, wincing a little.

Moving his hand to hold the back of her head, he kisses her gently on the lips. “Me too, baby,” he whispers in a matching tone, returning her smile. “Me too.”

xxxhomelandxxx

It really does feel like a particularly undesirable kind of a deja vu when in the evening, for the third time in a row something unexpected happens when they are tranquilly at home.

But at least this time it seems that neither of them will get dragged out in a straitjacket or handcuffs.

“I'm sorry about the lack of a forewarning, but I came here directly from the airport,” President Hayes says when after the house gets checked by a dozen of Secret Service officers, he enters the house.

“Far from the most unpleasant visit we've had this week,” Carrie says with a small smile, glancing at Yevgeny.

“So I've heard,” the President says, shifting his gaze between them and then waiting for the officers to leave the house before sitting down. “And while this isn't the reason why I'm here, I want you to know that I didn't authorize either of these incidents,” he says after Carrie and Yevgeny take places across from him. “Some... concerns were brought to my attention and I was going to address them this way or another, but it seems that some people decided to take the matters in their own hands before I had the time to decide on an appropriate course of action.” He pauses and looks around the room for a few seconds before continuing. “As for the actual reason for my visit. I just returned from a meeting with President Volkov, and I'm afraid this... special agreement between us is not going to work.”

Carrie straightens up in her seat, pleasantly surprised by the President's conclusion, but managing to keep this reaction out of her face. Perhaps President Hayes is not as gullible as Saul seems to think he is.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Yevgeny says in a controlled voice that Carrie attempts to further decode to guess if he expected, considered, feared or hoped for such an outcome.

President Hayes extends his arms in a gesture meant to apparently express his own disappointment. “I have to say, it was especially dissatisfying to me after _our_ conversations,” he says, gesturing to both of them, “which left me feeling like there was so much room for a successful cooperation. I felt like we understood each other, like we were on the same page in regard to numerous important issues.”

He pauses and looks at both of them, and while it was quite obvious from the start that he could not come here to simply bemoan and complain, when he continues, Carrie is actually quite certain that Yevgeny is as caught off guard as she is by what the President says next after shifting his gaze and speaking with his eyes fixed on Yevgeny.

“I believe the concept itself is not unfamiliar to you... although I believe the way I see it is that it should be used to unite rather than to disrupt. For those who know little of politics, it may seem like getting involved in another country's affairs, trying to influence a certain outcome is unacceptable, regardless of possibly positive effects of such an operation. I used to think it outrageous too, but tonight, when I was looking at the city lights, most spectacular vista, as the plane was about to land, I realized. Well, I asked myself and then I realized. What is a country? Is it the ground under our feet? Our history? Our culture? Our leaders? No. A country is its people. It's _the people_ who constitute a country, and so being loyal to a country means being loyal to the people. Therefore keeping the interests of the people of both our countries in mind, I think it would be beneficial if the upcoming presidential election in Russia was won by someone who, in my opinion, has a better understanding of the current situation in the world... Let me put it this way. What would you say, if I offered you my help in becoming the next President of your country?”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the homestretch begin! (It will take a while, but still ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! :) Your amazing comments are always *the* highlight of my day!!! :):):)

"Well, what's on your mind, Saul?" Dar asks, narrowing his eyes in half a smile, apparently feeling rather confident regarding the latest developments.

Saul gives him a weak smile in return. He has been reticent all evening, mulling over all the possible repercussions of their decision to take President Hayes into their confidence and wondering if it was a good idea, after all. "Just one thing, really. What if he actually wins?"

"I was wondering the same thing!" Sandy points out in a mockingly cheerful tone, already almost regretting insisting on being a part of this scheme after overhearing a word or two, which led her to believe that something was going on. She wished to get involved simply because she thought that Saul could use one relationship in his life that would be free of secrets. However, the unfortunate result of that was being let in on a plan she did not like.

Dar Adal's lips twist into an amused sneer. "I don't expect that to happen. All we need is to push the attempt far enough to expose it as intended treason, so he'd really have no choice left but to cooperate."

"You really believe that?" Sandy shoots him a dubious look that Saul knows Dar must find annoying, which is as much entertainment as he can probably get out of this conversation considering how grim his overall mood is. He used to feel like that when a particularly large amount of thoughts would accumulate in his mind, but then bouncing the ideas off of Carrie usually helped, which of course now was unfortunately not an option. He kept wondering if he did not go too far with harsh words during their last conversation, but he hoped that they would have the desired effect, shake her out of this absurd reverie, shock her into some kind of a change.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Sandy," Dar says slowly, tilting his head to the side.

"I mean that he doesn't strike me like the kind of person who will tell you what you want to hear just because, as you put it, you leave him no choice. Which is always a matter of perspective, is it not?"

"Not when the choice is between a life sentence and… anything else."

"Are you talking from your own experience?" Sandy quips.

Dar smirks wryly. “If he won't talk, that's all the more reason to lock him up for the rest of his life. I think this is what some would call a win-win situation.” He reaches for a cup and takes a sip of his tea.

“What about Carrie?” Sandy asks, glancing at Saul.

“I'd rather not have her milling around the White House, but it seems unavoidable for the time being,” Dar says sourly. “The President seems to like her.”

"I like her," Sandy says, receiving a narrow-eyed look from Dar. "Hasn't she been through enough?"

"I'm not her therapist," Dar replies impassively. "I think it's time to call it a night", he adds, rising to his feet.

"Please don't leave on my account," Sandy says flatly, shrugging a little when Saul shifts his eyes to her, biting back a smile.

Dar smiles. "Just one thing worth bearing in mind. The ratio of dead people among those who like Carrie has always been unprecedentingly high, so you might want to reconsider if empathy or sympathy are the best advisors here. Good night."

xxxhomelandxxx

After getting out of the shower and wrapping a towel around herself, Carrie walks back into the bedroom and slips under the covers, throwing the towel over a chair.

"So… what do you think?" she asks, pressing a kiss to Yevgeny's shoulder, which seems to shake him out of his reverie.

He takes his forearm off his eyes to look at her, his lopsided smile brightening his gaze when he sneaks his hand around her to promptly pull her into his arms. "I think... that you look incredibly enticing." Sliding his hand into her damp hair, he dips his head and kisses her neck.

Laughing briefly under her breath, Carrie closes her eyes, tilts her head to the side and for a few moments lets herself focus on the simultaneously electrifying and calming sensation. Sometimes she does not want to remember what life felt like before his arms became the most familiar place in the world. There is something dangerous about this thought, a cold, sharp edge she does not want to think about. It terrifies her to imagine a life without it, a bleak cage disguised as an open space.

"What about the proposal?" She forces herself to ask, wrapping her arms around his neck. It is not a sense of duty, it never was. It seems like too rational a term to explain all the reckless choices, collateral damage and self-harm. She always thought it was love too, the greatest, most hopeless kind, because it did not expect anything in return. But it suddenly dawns on her that it is not love, what she feels for her country, what he feels for his. It is just an integral part of them, it is what makes them who they are, this unyielding belief in what their homelands stand for and the willingness to fight for that.

"Audacious," he mutters against her skin, nuzzling her neck. His hands slowly map the expanse of her body, and she remembers a twinge of trepidation which accompanied her at the beginning of their relationship when she realized he was determined to know everything about her, from every crevice of her body to every memory to each thought. But it was not his attempts that terrified her, but rather a recurring thought that as impossible as it was, he might as well succeed, and what he would think of what he discovered?

"So audacious that it might actually work," she says in all sincerity, running her open palms across his back, his bare skin warm under her touch.

He stills his movements, for just a second, but she finds herself impatient enough for him to continue that she makes a disgruntled sound. He brings his lips to hers and kisses her, hard. "Are you a part of this conspiracy?" There is a hint of a smile in his voice, but also alertness which sends shivers through her entire body, because it feels like a recycled trick, like he is trying to put the thought in her head.

"What conspiracy?"

Yevgeny looks at her a few moments in silence, runs his thumb across her mouth, and then suddenly pulls her underneath him. She gasps against his lips a split second before he kisses her, releasing her mouth only long enough for her to whisper his name, her breathless voice sending a tremor through him. With her eyes closed she can feel him smile against her skin as his lips are skimming across her face, ever so lightly.

"You don't really think the thought just occurred to him while the plane was taxing?"

Tightening her embrace around him, Carrie wraps her leg over his. "So you think it's Saul and Dar's idea? Or something else entirely?" Her voice trembles and breaks when he lets his mouth wander down her cleavage.

"Isn't discussing this off limits?" He asks with a smile, but before she has a chance to answer, all distance between them is lost and he kisses the stifled moans off her lips.

“That was your idea, the whole competition thing,” she whispers, opening her eyes to look at him. “Or fake competition, I don't really know.”

The unhurried but relentless rhythm feels as if it exists beyond them, sweeps them into a strange cauldron of exhilaration and sorrow.

“I like watching you like this,” he murmurs under his breath, resting his forehead against hers. “Like this, for a brief, brief while, you're completely mine.”

“I am yours completely,” she pants on an impulse and he winces with a broken smile, whispers her name over and over again, kisses her feverishly.

She feels his breath on her ear before he says quietly, her heartbeat quickening at his words, which suddenly bring tears into her eyes, because they sound like a memento. “And I am yours.”

Kaleidoscopic patterns explode in her mind, myriads of feelings flood her senses, making her feel free and complete and there is nothing else-

But the moment is brief and as she is trying to regain her breathing, it feels like cold, ashen debris falling over her in the quickly approaching darkness.

"Why are you putting this idea into my head? That I could be working with them behind your back?" She asks after a longer moment of silence, without opening her eyes, her arms wrapped around his body, the heavy, comforting weight still pressing over her, like a different, incandescent, infinite universe that she cannot keep.

"I shouldn't have to,” he replies quietly, his face nestled in her neck.

The words make her heart clench. Because it is true. Not only should she immediately try to find out what all of this was about. She should have been one of the architects of that plan.

"You know I couldn't- I can't-" She trails off as if she is surprising herself with her own words.

He lifts his head to look at her, cups the side of her face with his hand, his lips hovering over hers as he speaks. “I know. And I'm sorry.” She gives him a confused look. “For trying to break you... in so many horrible ways. And for finally succeeding, in the only way that was never wrong, but somehow this is what makes it worse.” He inhales and adds after a pause. “I broke you... with this love.”

She shakes her head, clasps her hands around his shoulders when he pulls them into a sitting position.

“That's not true,” she protests with a grimace, widening her eyes at him in dismay. “I don't feel broken because I love you.” She shakes her head again, as if trying to disperse all those grim thoughts gathering in her head. She freezes for a second and asks barely above a whisper, struck by the thought. “Do you?”

“No,” he says, but his faint smile does not reach his eyes. “No, I don't feel like that and I know you don't either, but...” His voice is even and calm and it suddenly hurts her to breathe, a sense of dread creeping over her. “This doesn't change the fact that... we did break each other, Carrie. You know that.” He kisses her softly, holding her face in his hands. “And we need to fix that,” he adds, kissing the tears off her face when they suddenly roll down her cheeks. “I don't want to be your handler, not anymore,” he says with a mirthless smile, studying her face when she looks at him. “I used to think... I could be that while loving you. I can be that, _because_ I love you. I love you, so I have the right to change you, break you, turn you, destroy you, save you.”

A sob escapes her, because it feels like the moment she dreaded all along without knowing it. She suddenly wants to, with all of her heart, be back in Ramallah, hit restart, rewind, rewind, just live once more through all that, every day, every night.

“I used to think that too,” she explains, trying to smile through her tears. “That no matter what I do or how many lies I tell, it's okay because I love you. And I did want to turn you. That day when we went to the birch forest for the first time, it suddenly crossed my mind, not a design of any kind, just a fleeting thought, how great that would be. And now... now I can't imagine having any part in having you forsake who you are.”

He kisses her gently, reassuringly. “I thought...” he continues, and it feels like they are telling the same story made out of two intertwined ones, “that I'd love you even more if you let me shatter you, so I could scrutinize all the pieces, decide what to do with each of them. I wanted to fracture your soul, rewrite your mind, dye your heart.” He pauses, almost out of breath. “But somewhere along the way it all went away, and I realized I didn't know anything,” he smiles briefly, recalling her words. “I thought love was a pleasant, exciting accompaniment to everything else that I wanted to do. That I could choose how to play it and when to hear it but... One day I looked at you... and I realized that I just want you to be happy. Not with me, but... with who you are.”

She presses her lips to his, trying not to cry. “So what happens now?”

He takes her hands in his, squeezes them tight. “Let's find out.”

xxxhomelandxxx

“Carrie.”

After opening the door, Saul just continues staring at her, and after a few moments she widens her eyes at him in a questioning expression. “Can I come in or not?”

Wordlessly, he steps out of the way, watching her stroll inside in a series of quick, decisive steps.

She looks around the room with unseeing eyes, trying to calm herself, which is not easy considering that she feels like a sole survivor fresh from a plane crash. After pacing around the room for some time, she gives Saul a serious look bordering on a glare.

“I want in,” she says in a tone devoid of any undertones.

Saul's eyebrows knit together in a slightly confused frown. “In on what?”

“Is that your idea? That accelerated presidential campaign? Great, surreptitious achievements versus a corruption scandal? I remember you mentioned something like that once. As a theory.”

She can tell Saul is at least surprised by her demeanor. She was doing it wrong from the start. Guilt and tears and apologies. Who had time or patience for that. Or for listening to her babbling about true love. People do not believe such things, not even Saul, especially Saul, having seen what he has seen in his life, taking into consideration his own experiences and disappointments and fatal crashes against illusory houses of cards. Carrie tucks loose strands of hair behind her ears and rests her hands on her hips.

“Assuming I know what you're talking about...” Saul says at last, his face unreadable, but there is that vague sense of hope in his eyes that she learned to recognize. She would always cling to that when she knew she was going to do something he did not approve of, but the moment it actually worked out, he would no longer mind.

“Do you really want him to win or is it a trap?” She asks brusquely.

“ _You think they just want you to burn all the bridges back to the Kremlin? Ensure President Volkov would never trust you again?” Carrie asks with an incredulous frown once they stop with the tears and epiphanies and start putting together a plan. The first plan. The last plan. The only plan. Not exactly a plan._

_Yevgeny smiles, because her eyes are shining and his are shining too, and she does not quite know what is happening, other than they are in the fast lane toward something beautiful and tragic and she starts kissing him when he does not reply._

“What do you mean a trap?” Saul asks, inclining his head.

It feels so inconsequential, a conversation in a living room, and yet there is so much at stake, a plethora of opportunities. “How did Dar got out of jail?” Carrie blurts out, changing the subject so rapidly that Saul flinches a little.

“ _When did you get all these?” Carrie laughs, feeling the dried trails of tears on her face as she does so. Opening the remaining packets with colorful post-it cards, she eyes the white boards she did not even know were in the house._

“ _Do you use markers on these?” Yevgeny asks, raising his hand as if he was about to mess with her already carefully drawn timeline._

“ _Hey!” She snatches the marker out of his hand, and wheels the board around.”This one is mine. How come you've never used these? What do you use for planning anyway? Spreadsheets?”_

“Why do you ask?” Saul's eyes are fixed on her and it is such a strange feeling to be on the receiving end of his evaluation that she witnessed so many times, right by his side.

“I don't know.” Carrie shrugs. “First he shows up in Moscow, seemingly out of nowhere, bragging about being chummy with the President, weaving wild theories pertaining to very past events and vague promises of reinstatement and promotion. Then it turns out he's been onto GRU's attempts to dismantle the CIA's Witness Protection Program, apparently working with Simone, who among other things has been gathering potentially incriminating evidence against Yevgeny and I. Now he's trying to undermine Yevgeny's position, because I don't think he'd really like to see him elected. And I don't know about you, but I'm baffled.” With a sigh, Carrie slumps onto a couch and shrugs again.

Saul blinks and just stares at her for a longer while. There is an ongoing inner battle that she can gleam from his stern facial expression. “What are you saying?” He settles on the safest question and Carrie snorts humorlessly.

“Who got Dar released? It can't be that much of a secret?” She asks, watching Saul take a few, slow steps toward her and sit in an armchair nearby.

“President Hayes. Who else?” He says still rather warily, but Carrie can sense the reel beginning to roll.

“ _But if that is their plan, how will you disrupt it?” She asks, glancing at Yevgeny over her shoulder, as they are sitting back to back on the floor, among mind maps, charts, unsorted and already sorted out._

_He turns his head to look at her, a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. She narrows her eyes at him and he presses a kiss to her nose._

“So Dar is among those who benefited most from that helicopter crash?” Carrie says evenly, stepping carefully on the fine line between audacity and ludicrousness. “He's also the one who made sure there were reports in existence to prove that the crash was not an accident. He kept trying to imply Yevgeny had something to do with that, which I think you agree that despite everything makes little sense. He got Simone to cooperate. Also, that CIA's Witness Protection Program scheme was Yevgeny's task. And now the election idea. Do you see a common denominator here?”

“When the crash happened, Dar was still in jail,” Saul says, squinting, apparently trying to tear through the billowing layers of her hazy hypothesis. “And why would he be so intent on compromising Yevgeny?”

“Not Dar,” Carrie observes dispassionately. “The President.” She pauses, waiting for the confusion to appear in Saul's eyes. “Of Russia.”

_She knows the euphoria is just a defense mechanism, which allows them to concentrate on the good side of things, but she throws herself into it nonetheless. They toss questions at each other, exchange disconnected thoughts, make no assumptions and arrive at no conclusions out loud. Each of them has to do it on their own. In between the words, charts, mind maps which span across more than pieces of paper or white boards, they keep touching, kissing, reaching out for each other, as if hoping that there could come a moment when it would be enough... But the moment does not come and each time they stay in an embrace for a long time, just holding each other._

Saul is gazing at her with his forehead wrinkled in a frown, as if expecting her to say something more, but she waits for him to speak instead. Saying too much would be unwise. Especially since she has not much more to say. Someone has to be thrown under the speeding bus for this to work and she is not particularly heartbroken it is going to be Dar Adal. The paradox of retrieving what she has lost, including Saul's trust by lying to him is not lost on her, but at least her intentions are pure and in line with his, only that he would not understand that at this point if she tried to explain it to him. So she has to resort to a convoluted scheme to make that happen.

“So Dar is working for the Russians, and the Kremlin wants to eliminate Yevgeny. Why? He failed to prevent Simone from testifying. He failed to turn you. As far as they might think, he killed a high-ranking official to advance his career. And now he possibly defected. Valid reasons, but they don't feel like enough.”

It is the first time during this conversation that Carrie feels like smiling wistfully, if only a little. It was Saul who taught her to have other people tell the story that you want them to believe in. And now he is doing just that.

“Well, there is one more thing,” she says with a grimace, exhaling sharply.

Saul's eyes are fixed on her and she knows he is trying to figure it out, but with this she will have to help him a little.

“The black box,” she says in a hollow voice. “He upheld the deal. The recording was made public. After he got Anna's name, he could've just disappeared into thin air. Only I, and you, knew about it. Don't you think that the Kremlin was actually looking forward to watching us self-destruct on the Pakistani border?”

“ _Why are you smiling?” Yevgeny asks, tucking her hair behind her ear, and peering at her from behind._

“ _Because you're tickling me,” she says, jotting down two parallel lines on the piece of paper in front of her._

_He laughs against her skin, dragging his lips across her back in a series of lingering kisses._

“ _I came up with a plausible explanation,” she says thoughtfully in a low voice, half to him, half to herself. She turns around to look at him and for a few moments contemplates asking him, but then smiles ruefully. “It feels like it could be true.”_

_He outlines the contour of her face with the backs of his fingers before kissing her. “That's good.”_

It may be her words or the use of “us” instead of “the US” or maybe something about her behavior that feels, even to her, comfortably familiar that makes Saul fall silent and consider her words with a pensive frown on his face.

“I did not defect, Saul,” she says and Saul's eyes snap to hers. The words sound so strange spoken out loud, and yet they are so true, so deeply genuine that she has to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “Deep down you must know that, despite all those stupid things you said about protecting this country from me,” she adds with a grimace, shifting her eyes back to him after looking absently around the room.

Saul exhales slowly. “Do you know what you're asking of me? To believe you. After everything that happened, to believe you above my oldest friend, who saved my life.”

“You do realize that if you don't, that leaves the President of the United States under the influence of a Russian agent, right?” She asks without missing a beat, ignoring all the sentimental undertones.

“And if I do, but it's not true, that leaves the President of the United States under the influence of two Russian agents,” Saul retorts, holding her gaze.

Carrie shakes her head with a humorless snort. “Yevgeny has no role at the White House, and actually I don't have one either. And isn't the best proof of what I'm saying that no significant changes, no successful resolutions happened in the last several years? Isn't it in Russia's best interest that our influence dwindles and we don't get involved anywhere anymore? Even with Afghanistan, the President kept announcing possibly withdrawing the US troops and then sending more troops there. If it wasn't for Yevgeny, the peace deal wouldn't have happened, so maybe this may give you an idea of actual intentions of various people.”

“He didn't tell you? Saul asks, slightly narrowing his eyes at her. “President Hayes,” he clarifies when Carrie looks nonplussed. “With the beginning of the month, he wants to appoint you to the position of a Senior Advisor. The vetting process and a suitability check may go well. A security clearance, I don't know. But I guess we'll just have to wait and see.”

Carrie straightens up in her seat, sincerely surprised by that. “He didn't say anything to me yet,” she says with a shrug. “I mean, he mentioned that a while ago, but I didn't think anything would come out of that. In any case, you do realize that the only way to actually stop the Kremlin from gaining momentum is for Yevgeny to win the election, right?”

Saul seems taken aback by this. “And then what?”

“I'm not saying he'll do everything I ask him to, but I will have some impact,” Carrie says, all of a sudden finding it difficult to keep her voice from trembling.

“ _What about Lev?” Carrie suddenly asks, so quietly, as if the words were fragile._

_With her head nestled against his chest, she cannot see Yevgeny's face, but the light tapping of his fingers on her back tells her he is thinking about their momentary past, vanishing present, and the future they no longer have. He could say so many things and it is too early to think about all the details regarding that just yet anyway, but he phrases his answer in a way that breaks her heart._

“ _He'll be safer with you.”_

_She looks up at him with tears in her eyes. “Don't- Don't love me like that.”_

_His forehead falls against hers and he smiles with sadness glimmering in his eyes. “How should I love you?”_

“ _So I won't feel like I'm going to die without you,” she whispers against his lips._

“ _You won't,” he whispers, brushing his mouth across hers. He takes her chin in his hand and winks at her. “And I will always love you like that.”_

“So you'll go back to Russia with him?” Saul asks with a frown, but his tone is reassuringly rational, as if he is beginning to see her words paint a coherent picture.

Carrie draws a breath, trying to regain her composure and ignore all the sad, horrifying thoughts in her head. “Yes,” she whispers, her heart clenching in her chest.

Because no lie she has ever told hurt her as much as this one.

xxxhomelandxxx

After leaving Saul's house, Carrie crosses the street and gets into her car, her heart hammering in her chest, both from the feeling that everything went as she hoped it would, and a sense of subdued joy that there were moments during that conversation when it felt like no fallout ever happened between them.

Placing her hands on the steering wheel, Carrie tries to piece together this scattered, shimmering feeling inside that seems like a blurred self-portrait, suddenly coming into view. How little did people, even Saul, understand of her, if they thought she fell apart during her captivity in the asylum in Moscow. That _that_ was her defining moment, the disaster that changed her. The truth was, she fell apart more times than she cared to count and each horrible experience left a scar, which blended with other scars, until the image of her would start becoming unrecognizable. At some point she got used to feeling like she could get a grip of everything, except her true self. She was not sure who she was or became or wanted to be. On most occasions it seemed like a consideration of secondary importance anyway. She lost herself and subconsciously reconciled with the fact that she was not going to be found. It was okay.

But then somewhere between scoring a great victory, losing her mind, breaking all the rules and, for all intents and purposes, dying in most people's eyes, something unexpected made its way into her life, into every inch of her, like a surreptitious, healing current flooding all the fractures, fissures, interstices.

Clenching her teeth, and wiping the tears off her eyes, Carrie winces, stifling a sob. For such a long time she thought this love was going to be her final undoing that she almost did not notice how it carried her back to who she was at the beginning of her journey, to that ideal self, fearless, confident, self-protective, and strong.

Moving her hand to start the engine, Carrie draws a breath, but then freezes when she notices Simone's face in the rearview mirror in an instant when she sits up in the backseat and presses a gun to her neck.

"Drive," Simone says in a frigid tone.

"Desperate much?" Carrie asks levelly.

"Don't presume I won't kill you," Simone says through her teeth. "Or at least turn you into a vegetable. Or kill your daughter or your sister or your nieces." She presses the gun harder into Carrie's skin when their glares meet in the mirror again. "Possibilities are endless, and as I'm sure you know, I have relatively little to lose. Now _drive_."

"What do you want?" Carrie asks impatiently, maneuvering the car out of the parking spot.

"I want you to rot in alienation, in a jail or a hospital, doesn't really matter. I thought that was where this was going, that's what Dar Adal promised me, but he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to fulfill that promise, so I decided to take care of that." After telling Carrie to turn into the highway, Simone adds. "They do arrest people around here for attempting to assassinate the President of the United States, right? Because this is what you're going to be charged with.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. How to tell you this!? Lol I know it may not be obvious considering how long this story already is, but I'm actually not very much into dragging things out lol So here it is, the moment which I always dread, but also like, and which surprises me every time, because one day it just happens: the realization that a story is coming to an end. I know my earlier rough estimation mentioned about 30 chapters, but... I guess stories and life are similar in this regard. Sometimes you expect or want things to happen but they don't, and sometimes you are caught off guard by what actually happens and how. I feel like in the case of this story, I was not prepared for the turn it took (or at least the timing of it), but somehow it makes it feel more true and in sync with its spirit. It just feels right this way, somehow, and I hope you'll think so too, and that you'll still like the two final chapters *and* the epilogue :)
> 
> Well, that was probably the longest chapter non-summary ever! Haha to make up for this (or maybe not lol) I'll try to post the next chapter a little sooner (Friday, maybe?) Have a great weekend! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading, for all the kudos, and for your wonderful comments!!! :):):)

The dust on the floor reminds Carrie of something... Or maybe it is just a side effect of that unique kind of exhaustion that always follows a make-or-break conversation, and her meeting with Saul was just that. Glancing toward the window at the end of the room, Carrie looks at sun rays on the floor, straight, glittering lines that cannot really be crossed because they are intangible, mere reflections of a faraway light. The illuminated grains of dust remind her of finding Max, of Ramallah, and of that afternoon in Moscow when she was left, when she elected to stay behind. Her nose was bleeding and later in the car Yevgeny wanted to clean it with a damp cloth. _"I can do that myself,"_ she snapped, snatching the piece of fabric from him. He drew back his hands in a gesture of mocking surrender and looked away, and the dust swirled around between them in strange patterns oddly bright in the sunlight.

“What's so funny?” Simone asks, narrowing her eyes at Carrie when she gives out a scornful chuckle at the sight of a camera placed in one of the rooms of an abandoned house on the outskirts of the city.

“I won't be doing any recordings, that's all,” Carrie answers disdainfully. “When I got held up in Russia, they wanted me to do that too, to cast some doubt upon your testimony, but I didn't do it then, so sure as hell I'm not going to do anything like that now.”

After closing the blinds, Simone turns to her with a spiteful smile. “'They'?” She repeats mockingly. “Is that repression at work? Because I'm pretty sure it must've been Yevgeny.”

Carrie draws a breath, surprised by the lack of annoyance that she experienced before when Simone spoke his name. Now it feels so meaningless, as if someone else's words could not get through to her at all.

“You think you know him so well,” Carrie says, trying to keep wistfulness out of her voice. “But I'm his wife and I know him better than you can possibly imagine,” she says on an impulse, not really intending to be nasty, just finding the words soothing as she utters them out loud, as if they had the power to make the impending separation feel immaterial.

Simone looks her up and down with a cynical glint in her eye. “If you say so,” she says offhandedly, holding her gaze in a way that apparently aims to be unsettling. “Now as for the plan.” Simone turns on the computer and shifts the screen toward Carrie. “That's the route the President will take today. The car will be intercepted here,” she points to a place on the map, ignoring a skeptical look Carrie gives her.

“Intercepted? Who else is involved in this?” Carrie asks, wondering if maybe she was really on to something with implying Dar Adal's opaque agenda.

“You will find out,” Simone says with a brief smile. “Later.”

xxxhomelandxxx

“That was a razor-sharp analysis.”

In an empty classroom the words reverberate loudly, and Sandy looks up, caught off guard by the comment following the door opening and closing again after the last student who left the room after the finished lecture.

“Well, I'll take this as a compliment,” she says, tilting her head to the side and watching Yevgeny make his way down the sparse steps. “To what do I owe?...” She adds with a questioning smile.

He smiles back, but with what seems to Sandy a trace of genuine sadness. “I came to ask for a favor.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Sandy narrows her eyes at him. “The kind of favor that if the answer is 'no', death threats follow?” She is surprised with herself that for a second she wishes that he would actually confirm that guess, but unfortunately he just smiles that sad smile again, and so she decides to at least hope for the time being that he is faking the gloomy demeanor. Maybe Saul is right. Maybe she should not look into people, loved ones and strangers alike, too deeply, always trying to understand them, always trying to guess, imagine the context behind, emotions weaved into their words and actions.

“No."

Or maybe Saul is wrong. Maybe that's how everyone should look at everyone.

She waits for Yevgeny to elaborate on the nature of that favor, but he just looks at her, and she thinks that maybe that was a sufficient description, after all. "I'm listening."

"You're running an annual poetry contest sponsored by the university. A popular one, it seems. There must be many submissions. Maybe you should consider running it on a quarterly basis?"

“Well, the dean was already thinking about doing it twice a year, especially since it is not limited to students,” Sandy replies, her forehead wrinkling in thought, as she tries to read the expression on his face in an attempt to figure out what it is all about, and finding it both reassuring and unsettling that he must apparently think she will not have reservations doing what he is about to ask.

“And if you got an... interesting submission, would you be able to share it with someone?”

Sandy blinks, struck by the thought, quite deviating from her initial suspicion. "You don't mean Carrie, do you?"

"Thank you," he says after a pause, holding her gaze, and before she has a chance to ask anything else, he turns to leave.

"Yevgeny."

He stops by the door, hand on the doorknob. For a moment she thinks he will not turn around, but he does, his eyes shifting to her, his expression guarded.

"Do you know why I left the CIA?" Sandy asks with a sigh.

"You mean… the reasons you stated in the exit interview?"

She chuckles wryly. "I'm gonna skip the impressed facial expression. No. The real reason. I left because… because I realized that the only place where I really was irreplaceable was home. And that my children were more important than the world's affairs," she says in a low, firm voice, holding his gaze.

"It must be nice," Yevgeny says after a moment of silence, and then adds before turning around and leaving the room, the door closing after him with a dull thud. "To think like that."

xxxhomelandxxx

No one calls or texts Simone, and Carrie begins to think that maybe she is working alone, after all. Which would render Simone's threats rather empty, especially if Carrie acted quickly.

Surreptitiously assessing all the potential ways out, Carrie decides that if an opportune moment presented itself, she could get to the door fast enough to escape outside.

“Is that all clear, or should I repeat anything?” Simone asks, narrowing her eyes at her.

“You know I'm not going to do that, right?” Carrie says brusquely, following Simone's gaze when she glances toward the window at the sound of an engine.

Quickly measuring the distance when Simon takes half a step toward the window, Carrie launches herself toward the door and leaps out of the room, strangely alarmed by the lack of vocal reaction on Simone's part. It is doubtful Simone would try to shoot her at this point and Carrie is sure she could outrun her, but it seems like a natural reaction to shout something while trying to chase after her. But this entire train of thought takes only a split second as Carrie rushes across the whitewashed hallway and almost hits the front door which suddenly opens. She narrowly misses the wooden frame, but instead of running outside, she smashes into the person in the doorway.

She looks up and her breath catches in her throat at the sight. “Yevgeny?”

_Carrie wakes up in the middle of the night. Most of the candles are out. The air is humid, and when she exhales, the dust is dancing in the air in front of her. She follows the minuscule grains, which settle on the floor, and all over Max's motionless body, his ashen face unchangingly peaceful in the faded, orange glow of what remains of light._

_She shifts her head, her muscles feeling so stiff as if she has not moved in_ _weeks_ _. And only when she tries to move, she realizes, she is lying on the floor in Yevgeny's arms._

_It confuses her for just a moment before she recalls him walking up to comfort her when she started to cry, overcome with guilt and sorrow over Max. Maybe he just intended to give her a single hug or maybe he did not think it through at all. But when without even thinking about it she instinctively hugged him back, she felt him freeze, hesitate for a split second, as if he did not know what to do with that,_ _as if he f_ _elt that it might not be right to be comforting her after everything he did_ _._

_And then they just stayed like that until she calmed down and stopped sobbing. Slowly, she disentangled herself from his embrace and looked at him. Her memories from the asylum were still hazy then, and so she was not sure if it was a distorted memory or a bizarre flash of a grief-induced dream that made her think, for a heartbeat, about kissing him, about how it would feel like to take a leap into what made so little sense, because it suddenly felt like absolute darkness full of blinding light._

“ _You should get some sleep,” he said then, in a hushed voice that could not remind her of anything, but in some inexplicable way it did, of everything._

“ _Yes,” she nodded, trying to shake off the bewilderment and the warmth emanating from his eyes. “Yes.” She looked around the decaying space with a tired gaze, baffled by the thoughts running through her head, finding it almost difficult to stop herself from saying how beautiful this place was! Because this temporary grave suddenly felt like the most beautiful place in the world, and this ridiculous thought took her breath away for a few, overwhelming moments before she managed to push it away._

_He helped her to her feet, his hands lingering on her arms or maybe she was just imagining it, just like that caring look in his eyes, the eyes of someone who once promised to send her to hell and fulfilled that promise rather fine._

“ _I'll stay here with Max,” she said tonelessly, glancing over her shoulder, fresh tears welling up in her eyes at the sight._

“ _Okay.”_

_She thought he would leave, but instead he led her to the other side of the room, where the candlelight did not_ _reach, and lowered both of them to the floor, lying down himself on the hard surface and having her put her head on his chest while he wrapped his arms around her, and she fell asleep before she had the time to dwell on that._

_Her fidgeting wakes Yevgeny up and he asks if everything is alright._

“ _I don't think Saul will be here before morning,” she whispers, her eyes fixed on Max. She holds her breath when she feels Yevgeny's hand stroke her hair, accidentally or on purpose, she cannot tell, but it makes something inside her chest burn._

“ _Good,” he says so quietly, she guesses the word more than hears it._

_She closes her eyes, and falls asleep again wishing she did not feel safe in his arms._

“Well, that was... unsuccessful,” Simone says with a dry chuckle when Carrie enters the room escorted back by Yevgeny holding her by the arm.

It feels like the most bizarre nightmare even as she tells herself he is faking it. He must be. She is searching his eyes for a clue, a sign, a hint of something that would indicate this is a ploy, a part of some plan. But his gaze is impenetrable, and a fleeting, involuntary thought that perhaps this is the most real moment of all gives her a staggering vertigo.

But deep inside she feels that it is not, and the conviction is calm and warm and this is the feeling that she chooses to trust.

“Let's not try that again,” Yevgeny says with a barely perceptible wink, which seamlessly changes into a piercing look.

“I don't think she understands,” Simone says in a mockingly speculative tone, tilting her head to the side.

“She does,” Yevgeny says flatly, tossing Carrie onto a chair in front of the computer set up on the battered table. “Now,” he says, clutching her shoulders just painfully enough for her to take a cue to wince. “A quick recap to see if you remember your instructions.” He leans over her shoulder, shifting his gaze from the map on the screen to her.

“Since when you've been planning it?” Carrie asks, turning her head to look at him, his breath ghosting across her skin and she suddenly feels utterly cold at the realization that she may never again wake up to the sight of his face so close to hers.

“What do you think?” Simone asks with a sardonic smile, moving to stand across from her on the other side of the table.

Carrie ignores her. “So? Staging an assassination attempt to play the hero?”

Yevgeny slightly narrows his eyes at her. “That was agreed with the Kremlin before we came to the US.”

Carrie widens her eyes at him. “Oh that conversation I didn't hear because I happened to be asleep?”

He smiles a little, reaches out to push a strand of hair off her face. “Not the only one.”

She pushes his hand away. “The reduction of the weapons. Was that also agreed upon?”

“Of course. Decommissioning of outdated arsenal has to be done every once in a while. If it can make someone happy, all the better.”

“Have you done anything, during this entire time, anything at all, against your country?” Carrie asks, holding his gaze.

Slowly, Yevgeny shakes his head. “Have you?” He asks before she has the time to interpret her own reaction to his words, as if she felt both betrayed and relieved.

_"They will never trust us like that, baby. You know that. No matter what we do or don't do. No matter what we sacrifice. As long as we are together, our countries will never really trust us."_

Carrie exhales, her eyes fixed on Yevgeny, and it amazes her that if she did not love him she could not see through the emotionless expression on his face. “No.”

_This is a goodbye_ , she suddenly realizes and the thought falls over her like a hail of stones. This unraveling scheme, this theatre play is what they have left of their time together. For some reason, which now seems to her obviously absurd, she imagined there would be more time, time they could spend together, maybe even travel somewhere, meander leisurely across forests and beaches, explore undiscovered mountain trails, stargaze by the bonfire, and kiss ceaselessly through the night until the rays of dawn would illuminate their eyes and then maybe they would even change their minds...

“Carrie.”

She blinks back the tears at the sharp sound of his voice. His mouth does not twitch, his eyes are boring into hers with tireless intensity, and she finds herself staring back at him with the same resilient strength. If she doubted it before, she does not doubt it anymore.

No one will ever be able to tell.

“At 4pm the car...” she starts talking in an even voice, tries to keep it low, afraid that if she spoke louder it would break, like glass, like everything else that is now breaking inside her. The pain is so excruciating she does not know how she manages to keep it off her face so completely. But she does. She will.

They will.

xxxhomelandxxx

_4_ _months later_

Carrie is waiting outside of the interrogation room, looking at the screen of her phone, at the video playing without a sound. _A stunning victory_ , the news ticker says. _A new chapter in the_ _Russian history_. The video is paused by a notification popping up: meeting with a lawyer. Then another one: Leo, DCA, 7pm.

She looks up when she is called into the room and tries to appear less detached than she feels. Everyone seems pleasant enough, but it does not help her concentrate. They start by thanking her or congratulating her, it is always a mixture of both and she always smiles. Like she is happy to hear that. Sometimes she is. Happy. Mostly she is not, but Frannie says one of her teachers claims life is not about being happy, it is about always trying to do the right thing. She likes this take on life.

“You saved the President's life,” one of the people in the room says. Someone always says it when talking to her, even after four months. Family, acquaintances, parents of Frannie's school friends. Even Saul said that. Once. As if he knew she did not really want to talk about that. About how she stopped Simone Martin from killing President Hayes in an assassination attempt planned out by the notorious Dar Adal involved in yet another anti-presidential plot reaching all the way to Moscow, to the disgraced President Volkov, whose authorization of bounties offered to militants in Afghanistan for killing American soldiers along with corruption and embezzlement charges on a shocking scale led to him losing the election to an ex-GRU Director, who faked a defection so successfully that, among other things, he obtained highly classified personally identifiable information of all Russian defectors currently residing on the American soil. But instead of this leading to an international crisis, it became a part of a historic bargain resulting in a joint agreement regarding the weapons of mass destruction.

When Carrie leaves the CIA building, she goes for a short walk in a park before heading for the White House. It has only been a month since she actually reprised her role as a Senior Advisor, but (after years of inaction in the matter) she was already given a chance to map out her plan regarding Syria, which the President greenlit overnight to Saul's cordial amusement and almost everyone else's chagrin. For a moment then, she caught a shred of that feeling. Not joy or happiness, but something arguably more precious, some sort of peace, a sense of being at the right time, in the right place.

"The Vice-President's in a hospital, again. The Secretary of Health says the President keeps sending his calls to voicemail, Mike Dunne's got his own office, and we received another letter from Dar Adal. Number..." David consults his notes, "12, in which he goes into yet greater detail over you framing him for your own conspiracy plot." David greets her with a handful of news and a cup of coffee. "And this is the last coffee for now, because the steam boiler exploded."

It is somewhat amusing to Carrie that ever since- David seems to consider them best buddies of some sort, apparently bonded by a similar experience of a doomed love affair.

"Any good news?" Carrie asks, squinting.

"I already reported the coffee machine failure, so maybe it will get fixed today," David replies after a moment of consideration.

Carrie smiles weakly. "That's good. I just came to check in. I have a… I have a meeting at the law office today," she adds in a slightly strained voice, looking away.

David nods and gives her a sympathetic look. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," she replies with a brief smile, desolate enough to seem natural without raising suspicions.

As far as everyone knows, she was spying behind her husband's back for years and he used her to propel several schemes, so filing for divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences seemed justified, and a no-fault divorce a mature solution, especially under the circumstances.

At the law office, Carrie wonders if other people can hear her heart pounding in her chest. She feels a physical pain when she signs the papers, doing her best to keep her hand from shaking.

"No ugly custody battle. The press will be disappointed," the lawyer says with a smile apparently meant to cheer her up.

Tearing her gaze away from the document, Carrie lifts her eyes, trying to tell herself that it is just a piece of paper, meaningless, unable to inflict pain.

"We'll see how this goes," she says evasively, with just the appropriate amount of confidence.

"Are you sure two weeks every three months isn't too often?" The lawyer asks.

Carrie shrugs. "It's fine," she says in the most tired tone she can muster.

She feels dizzy when she leaves the law office, as if she was stabbed and weakened by the loss of blood. She takes a few steps and then leans against the wall and squeezes her eyes shut, tears escaping from under her eyelids as she covers her face with her hands to stifle the sobs. She knows this should not affect her so, but it does, and it makes her inconsolably sad to give up that symbolic, ethereal right.

"Carrie?"

She straightens up in surprise and blinks. "Saul. What are you doing here?" She asks, awkwardly brushing the tears off her face with her hands.

“Maggie said you didn't want her to come along, but that you looked... shaken up, so I thought I'd see if you needed anything,” Saul says in a low voice, walking up to her. “How are you doing?”

“After being forced to say 'I'm fine' twenty times today? Significantly better,” Carrie retorts with a sigh.

Saul's forehead wrinkles in a sympathetic grimace. “You know I'm really asking you.”

“I know,” she says, scanning the corridor with unseeing eyes. “But I don't think I have the answer,” she adds after a pause, looking back at him.

Saul nods slowly, his gaze dropping, but stopping at the level of her hands.

“You didn't take it off,” he says, and his voice is still gentle, but there is something in it that reminds her of their first meetings at the agency, when she was still in the process of figuring his character out.

Carrie frowns, for a moment sincerely confused, before realizing what he is referring to. “I just signed the papers,” she says with a mirthless smile, running her fingers over the wedding ring on her hand.

“Most people take it off when they feel it's over, not when they sign the divorce papers.”

“Is this on behalf of Maggie? The whole let's talk about feelings thing?” Carrie asks, getting moderately upset in an attempt to appear genuinely annoyed. “Because I don't want to talk about that. I don't need to talk about that.”

“Okay,” Saul says, raising his hand in an apologetic gesture. “Let's talk about other things. Like... your role at the White House.”

Carrie pushes herself away from the wall and they head toward the stairs. “What about it?”

“Mike Dunne nearly had a heart attack today. Figuratively speaking,” Saul amends when Carrie's eyes dart to him.

“Why? Too many passwords to remember?”

Saul bites back a smile. “No, he just came across the list that the President prepared, due to the current situation. A shortlist of potential candidates for the Vice-President's role.”

Carrie squints against the sunlight when they walk outside of the building.

_In broad daylight, dozens of car lights seem even more unreal, and_ _a_ _deafening sound of helicopters circling over the scene makes her ears hurt._

“ _Sir. Sir!”_

_Limping a little, President Hayes snatches himself free from the medical staff, and heads toward the emergency_ _car_ _nearby._

“ _Are you alright?” He asks, peering inside, while_ _five_ _Secret Service agents try to convince him to return to the other_ _vehicle_ _._

_Carrie smiles a little, grateful for the remnants of grime on her face resulting from a tire explosion that hopefully mask the trails of tears on her face. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”_

“ _No. Thank you,” the President says with an incredulous laugh, waving his hand on David who is trying to tell him something. “I've never seen something like that. How_ _did it_ _happen?”_

“ _We are just in the process of-” David starts explaining, not sure if that was a rhetorical question or not._

“ _Was that a hunch?” President Hayes asks, ignoring David, and turning his gaze back to Carrie._

“ _That too,” she says, lowering her voice. “But mostly some information I obtained... found... on my husband's computer.”_

_His forehead wrinkling in a frown, the President steps into the vehicle,_ _forcing_ _the doctors to move aside. “Was he behind this?”_ _President Hayes_ _asks, taking a seat next to Carrie._

_Carrie shakes her head. “No. But... I put some bits and pieces together... He didn't believe it._ _And… he w_ _as upset I even looked... It just... I think it was all fake. I mean, I wasn't exactly forthcoming with everything that was on my mind_ _either, but_ _...” She trails off, hoping_ _that her explanations are sufficiently reassuring and chaotic_ _. “I found some other things too,” she says, trying to make it look like she bravely regains her composure. In a way, it is the easiest performance, because she does feel devastated. But it is also the hardest, because all she feels like doing right now is scream and cry._

_The President's eyes widen in interest, but he checks himself and straightens up. “Well, I'm sure there will be time to talk about that,” he says, patting her hands in a reassuring gesture. “Now let's get all of these nonsensical procedures over with._ _"_

_Carrie nods with a weak smile while the President gets out of the emergency car, refusing to be helped while walking_ _,_ _repeating that he is fine_ _, and proceeding to scolding no one in particular to everyone standing within earshot._

“Carrie,” Saul places his hand on her shoulder, shaking her out of her reverie.

“Sorry. You were saying?” Carrie asks, turning toward him.

“I was saying that your name is on that list.”

“What?” Carrie chuckles under her breath. “Well, that's really nice. And strange. Or maybe it's just a really long shortlist. The Congress would never approve that anyway. Unless you're joking to begin with.” She takes the car keys out of her purse and after a moment of consideration takes her wedding ring off and drops it into her purse, before meeting Saul's gaze again.

“Who knows,” he says, not commenting on the gesture other than giving her a faint, sad smile. “I don't think anyone else's resume quite compares. Thwarting a terrorist attack, exposing a plot to take down the President of the United States, seven months in captivity, five years in enemy country running a single most dangerous individual undercover operation in recent years, playing a crucial role in the peace deal in Afghanistan, thwarting an assassination attempt against another US President."

"Well, if you put it that way," Carrie says with a weak smile.

Saul smiles back. "In any case, I just thought I'd tell you. You know, as a mood lifter.”

“That's a good one. Thanks.”

When they part, Carrie strolls back to her car, gets inside and after closing the door, she unclasps the plain gold chain necklace she is wearing. She takes it into her hands, and after finding the wedding ring she dropped into her purse, she slides it onto the necklace, clasps it back around her neck and slips the ring under her blouse, out of sight.

xxxhomelandxxx

“Do you need a tour around the airport?” Yevgeny asks when after clarifying all the travel details with his parents, they are still looking at him as if they expected him to say something more.

Gennady sighs, while Anastasia hushes Lev whom she is holding in her arms.

“Actually, I was hoping for a more lengthy conversation,” Gennady says, following Yevgeny's gaze when it moves fleetingly to The Presidential Security Service officers hovering nearby.

“About what?” Yevgeny asks, slightly widening his eyes at him.

“Gennady, please. There is no point,” Anastasia says, handing the baby to Yevgeny for a goodbye. “He said what he had to say.”

“'Good evening. Carrie and I are getting a divorce. Could you take Leo to Washington D.C. next Friday?'” Gennady says mockingly in a bitter tone of voice, shifting his gaze between his wife and his son.

His eyes fixed on Lev, Yevgeny says nothing for a while. “Yes, well, thank you for doing that,” he says at last, pressing a kiss to the baby's forehead and handing him over to his mother. “Don't lose the blanket,” he adds without a smile, but apparently in jest, tugging on the piece of fabric.

Anastasia nods with a sad smile.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Yevgeny says goodbye to them and walks back to the motorcade.

xxxhomelandxxx

While waiting, Carrie realizes that she cannot remember the last time she was waiting for someone at the airport. It almost feels unreal, like a snapshot from a family movie, even if not a particularly happy one. Despite the confirmed arrangements, she wonders if they will arrive as planned, after all, if the plane does not get delayed, if the weather does not get worse.

Simultaneously, she is making plans for next week, thinking about all the lined up meetings and tasks, going through the monthly report, each point memorized even without her actually trying to. Her suggestions almost never get refused, and although they are always grounded and justified, it could be harder to push them through, but fortunately the President trusts her judgment and Saul does too, so on most days it feels like she is making a difference, getting things done. She tries to always remind herself of that, find refuge in this feeling while crying herself to sleep.

When Carrie's eyes finally catch the sight of Gennady, Anastasia, and Lev, she rushes toward them, failing to keep her tears at bay when she takes the baby into her arms and hugs her son whom she has not seen in months.

“Oh honey,” Anastasia winces, stroking Carrie's arm in a reassuring gesture when tears start rolling down her cheeks.

“It is good to see you, Carrie,” Gennady says in a low, despondent tone.

She nods, swallowing the tears to enable herself to talk. “I love him very much,” Carrie whispers in a tearful voice, half-drowned in the noise surrounding them.

“Of course,” Anastasia says with a grimace, soothingly running her hand up and down her arm as she shifts her eyes between Leo and Carrie's face.

But then Anastasia's hand freezes, when Carrie catches her gaze and holds it with utmost intensity, glancing at Gennady who also seems to grow motionless, noticing a fervent glimmer in her eyes.

“I love him very much,” Carrie repeats, more quietly, but firmly, trying to keep her voice from breaking. “And he loves me,” she adds barely above a whisper with a barely perceptible, devastated, apologetic grimace.

Yevgeny's parents stare at her for a few seconds before understanding dawns on them, and Anastasia gives out a shaky sigh, pulls both Carrie and the baby into her arms, while Gennady straightens up, gritting his teeth as he draws a sharp intake of breath and nods, giving Carrie a sad smile which she returns.

xxxhomelandxxx

“Such a cute baby!” Ruby chirps in a high-pitched tone, clapping her hands in front of Leo's face.

“You're scaring him,” Josie says evenly, elbowing her. “And he's almost a toddler, so I don't think he'd appreciate you calling him a baby.”

“I'm not scaring him. He's laughing!” Ruby insists, widening her eyes at her sister. “Besides, I have babysitting experience.”

“Yeah, right. You got fired after one week,” Josie mutters, eliciting smiles from both Carrie and Maggie.

“Just because I asked for a raise,” Ruby says with a shrug, taking the baby from Frannie's arms. “My turn. Hi. I'm your aunt Ruby,” she says in an exaggeratedly sweet voice that makes everybody laugh. “What?”

“We just didn't know you could be that nice,” Bill says, taking a sip of his tea.

"And you're not his aunt," Maggie corrects her. "You're his cousin."

Ruby rolls her eyes.

“Careful! You put his blanket into the pudding,” Josie chimes in with a sigh, trying to clean the fabric with a tissue.

“That's okay, I'll just wash it up,” Carrie says, while her nieces' hand her the blanket.

“I'll be right back,” Carrie says in an answer to Frannie offering her help.

“I'll go get my phone. We could take some pictures,” Frannie says, quickly heading up the stairs to her room, while Carrie walks into the bathroom downstairs.

She puts some soap on the corner of the blanket and turns on the water. She is about to rub the soap into it, but stops at the sight of a dark stain which becomes more visible when the fabric gets wet. After closer examination, there seems to be something inside the piece of cloth itself. Carrie opens the drawer in which she finds a pair of small scissors, and carefully cuts the fabric. It splits easily under her fingertips, and she catches an edge of something green, which upon being pulled out of the blanket turns out to be a leaf.

A leaf from a birch tree.

Drawing a sharp intake of breath, Carrie winces, and feels the tears burn her eyelids when she squeezes her eyes shut. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she slides down to the floor and covers her face with her hands as she cries with her back against the bathtub.

“Mom?”

When Carrie abruptly looks up, Frannie is standing in the doorway with a concerned look on her face. For a moment, Carrie thinks it is just the sight of her that made her heart skip a beat, but then she realizes it is the word Frannie used, for the very first time.

“Are you okay?” Frannie asks, closing the door behind her, turning off the water and sitting on the floor next to Carrie, resting her back against the bathtub.

Carrie gives her a broken smile which causes more tears to rush down her face. “No, not really.” Draping her arm around Frannie, she presses her cheek to the top of her head.

"Are you crying because you can't be a spy anymore?" Frannie asks, eliciting a baffled snort from Carrie. "Ruby says you're too famous now to be a spy," she clarifies.

Carrie smiles briefly. "I don't think famous is the word, but yes, I guess it'd be harder now, for many reasons."

“What's that?” Frannie asks, noticing the leaf in her hands.

“That... is something I didn't understand for a very long time," Carrie says wistfully, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again. "When you find it, don't ever let go of that," she adds, her voice quivering despite her efforts not to sound hysterical. "Like I did. Twice." she whispers, stifling a sob.

“But... you didn't,” Frannie says after pondering this for a second, meeting Carrie's gaze when she looks up at her. “You still have it,” Frannie says, indicating the leaf in Carrie's hands. “You just have to be careful with that. It looks kind of delicate," she says matter-of factly, and Carrie is not sure if she is not imagining it, but she feels like they both understand exactly what they are talking about.

Nodding with a broken smile, Carrie gathers Frannie into her arms, thinking that this moment now matters too, that it is also a gift that she should not let go of. “It's tougher than it looks," she says pensively, "But yes, I'll make sure to keep it safe."

"Hey, guys?" The bathroom door bursts open and Ruby looks inside. "You might want to see what's on tv right now."


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because we all know Carrie would've succeeded in preventing *that* from happening ;) Which is more of a thought than a summary ;) As for the summary (sort of)... Hopefully, you enjoyed this little journey or at least some moments of it, and that it was more entertaining than disappointing. For me it was a great escape, these four months of living somewhere else, not just within the walls of a home office lol And I hope that this chapter & this story will leave you with the overall feeling that this way or another amor vincit omnia… as corny as it sounds ;) I was really *trying* to keep my fluff-loving self from taking over while writing this story, but I'm pretty sure I rather failed haha Anyway! Here is to hoping that all of us will find true love and those who already have will continue living happily ever after! :) Thank you for reading and I wish you all the best, may your dreams come true! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos!!! :) And for now let's just jump right into the last chapter, but you may expect a longer note preceding the epilogue ;) Also, I'm sorry I didn't manage to post this chapter on Friday, but it just happened not to be a great day.

Everything feels different these days, somehow, and Carrie keeps wondering what, if anything, has changed: she or the world? While walking across the streets, if she chooses to, she can make herself aware of every breath, every step she takes. Life used to be a whirlwind of actions and emotions, and now it feels like something she is living instead of being caught up in it. It is an obstacle course, not a maze, and she is still adjusting to this half comfortable, half uncomfortable sense of purpose interlaced with the underlying, excruciating pain that never really goes away, but at the same time it gives her strength, never lets her fall.

She is the last to arrive, and when she enters the room, all eyes turn to her, and silent greetings are exchanged while the President concludes his opening remarks, apparently concerned mostly with the unfortunate fact that the news regarding the fact that the Vice President passed away was leaked to the press before it was distributed among the White House staff.

“And that's not even the worst of it,” President Hayes says after a pause, leaning back in his chair.

Carrie and Saul exchange a look, but it seems that neither of them knows what the President is referring to.

“Sir?” David prompts carefully, after scanning the room and seeing mostly baffled looks while the President grows thoughtful.

“Apparently, and I don't think I have to add that this is strictly confidential information, he didn't die of natural causes,” President Hayes says with a sigh, looking around the room with a grim expression on his face.

“Was he poisoned?” Someone asks, perplexed.

Before the President has a chance to reply, the Secretary of Health and Human Services draws everyone's attention to him. “No. He was infected with a novel virus, which caused him to contract a respiratory illness, and unfortunately due to his numerous underlying health conditions, he was not strong enough to fight it.”

"Infected... on purpose? With a virus? Where did it come from?" Secretary of Defense asks with a grimace.

"China, most likely. But we're still in the process of putting the pieces together.”

"The problem is," President Hayes cuts in, apparently unfazed that as far as Carrie knows, he has been ignoring concerns raised by the Secretary of Health for quite some time now, "as you're all well aware, our relations with China have been rather strained lately, so we need to decide on a best and most viable way to approach this. A trusted source of information in Hubei Province would help, because some clues lead there.”

“I may have a contact person, someone affiliated with a university there,” Carrie says when the room grows silent. “A chemistry professor. I recruited him while he was working at the Moscow Engineering Physics Institute.” She draws a breath, trying to push away all the memories triggered by her own words. “He later got assigned to run a project in Japan. But he was the Head of Wuhan University's chemistry department before he came to Russia. We could start there.”

“Excellent!” The President says with a smile, rising to his feet. “Let's do that. Keep me updated and let me know if you'd need anything,” he adds, before leaving the room.

David frowns, about to ask what exactly the plan is, but after catching Saul's gaze who just slowly shakes his head, David rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair with a sigh. “Well, that was a productive meeting,” he mutters, receiving stifled smiles from a couple of people seating nearby.

“Was he burned?” Saul asks in a low voice when they leave the conference room and walk down the corridor together. “That professor.”

Carrie smiles briefly, but then grimaces and frowns a little. “Sort of. I think Yevgeny had him sent to Japan when he found out I recruited him.”

“Let's hope he's still alive,” Saul says somewhat offhandedly, and it is his tone of voice that causes Carrie to react perhaps too quickly, because she misses the intention behind it.

“Why wouldn't he be?”

Saul gives her a look that she is sure not many people can decipher as serenely triumphant.

“What?” She asks impatiently with a sigh, shooting him a stern look.

Saul shrugs when they stop in front of his office. “Nothing,” he says, and for a second Carrie thinks this would be his final comment, but then he adds. “Nothing I could find. Not a trace of collusion or collaboration of any kind-”

“I'm sorry, you've been spying on me?” She asks with a mirthless snort, widening her eyes at him.

“You sound surprised,” Saul says flatly, but there is that glimmer in his eyes that she always found reassuring and which was never there when he was really upset.

“Okay. So what's the verdict?” She asks wryly.

“Like I said,” Saul says, studying her face. “There is nothing. And yet.” Carrie gives him a questioning look, but he only shakes his head again. “You were always able to take that step too far that no one was able to predict.” He gives her a weak smile. “So I'm not going to try.” Turning toward the door, he opens it, but then turns to look at her again. “I knew you wouldn't kill me,” he says and Carrie blinks. “I was upset, because I knew this way or another you'd get the information you wanted, but... I knew you wouldn't kill me.” Her forehead wrinkling in a frown, Carrie gives him a small smile, which he returns before adding with a hint of amusement in his voice. “I mean it as a weakness. Once you start caring for someone, you never stop, no matter what. But...” Saul looks around the hallway with a thoughtful smile before shifting his gaze back to her. “I guess everyone is entitled to one weakness.”

xxxhomelandxxx

“I hope this isn't my grandson's favorite toy.”

Yevgeny's eyes shift to his father from where they were fixed on a torn up teddy bear in his lap. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear you knock,” he says, squinting.

“I didn't,” Gennady says, walking in and closing the door behind him. “The cake is ready, and your mother finally found that number 3 candle, so we can start.”

“I'll be right there,” Yevgeny says, holding his gaze and then giving him a slightly questioning look when Gennady does not move from his spot by the door.

“I'm just wondering for how long this is supposed to go on like that?” Gennady says at last, slowly walking up toward his son and taking a seat next to him.

Putting the teddy bear away and brushing the remnants of cotton fibers off his clothes, Yevgeny gives him an indecipherable look. “For as long as it has to,” he replies evenly.

Glancing at Yevgeny's curled up hand, Gennady says under his breath. “Sometimes life's shorter than the extent of plans we make. Are you sure you want to risk that?”

Yevgeny stares at him in silence for a while, before averting his gaze, looking around the room, and then letting his eyes drift back to his hands. Slowly outstretching his fingers, he reveals a tiny piece of rolled paper in his palm and starts unfurling it with the help of his fingernails. “During Carrie's first year in Moscow,” he starts speaking in a low voice and Gennady holds his breath, “on the day when her status was secured, we went to the St. Basil’s Cathedral. She never asked why. Maybe she knew I didn't know why either. We were just sitting there, and... I didn't know what to say. I thought I wanted to apologize, thank, ask... At the same time, I didn't really want to do any of that. And then I looked at her, sitting there right next to me, so beautiful, so brave, so... real, and this promise, prayer, thought just came to me, that I will love her the way someone must love me to have her happen to me.”

Glancing at the now unrolled piece of paper in Yevgeny's hands containing only the words _I love you_ written in Russian, Gennady blinks rapidly a few times. “Well, you didn't answer my question,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

Yevgeny snorts mirthlessly. “No great book had its author die in the middle of writing it.”

“What about the 'The Castle'?” Anastasia chimes in, peering into the room. “And really? You're tucked in here talking about literature while the coffee is getting cold?”

Gennady runs his hand over his face, trying to smile. “That's a debatable statement. And not the most fortunate one in the context of our discussion.”

“Oh I'm sorry, but I think I actually have a bigger emergency,” Yevgeny's mother says, trying to keep amusement out of her voice. “Lev wants a number 4 candle, because he says he already had his 3rd birthday yesterday.”

Yevgeny smiles, rising to his feet.

“Makes sense to me,” Gennady says with a shrug. “You can't celebrate the same birthday twice. And you can't live twice,” he murmurs with a sigh, exchanging a sad look with his wife.

xxxhomelandxxx

“You look wonderful,” Carrie says, leaning against the door frame and giving Sandy a smile when she turns away from the mirror at the sound of her voice.

“I've never been that stressed out in my whole entire life,” Sandy says so gloomily that it makes Carrie laugh a little. “I don't think I'm ready for 30 million people watching me smile awkwardly for an hour.”

“You know, if you start crying, you may bring it up to 40,” Carrie deadpans with a straight face. “And if you start texting and laughing to yourself while Saul speaks, you may get 80, at least.”

Chuckling under her breath, Sandy takes her purse and walks up to Carrie. “Yes, I think that's exactly what I'm going to do. If anything, he deserves to be punished for asking me to marry him just because he decided to run for President of the United States.”

“I don't think that was his only motivation,” Carrie says with a smile.

After giving her a mockingly skeptical look, Sandy smiles too. “Here,” she says, taking a piece of paper out of her purse and handing it to Carrie. “It's one of the poems that got submitted for our contest yesterday. I thought you might want to read it,” she adds softly.

Carrie's breath catches in her throat, but she manages to blink back the tears. “Thank you,” she says quietly and Sandy nods, squeezing her arm on her way out of the room.

Leaning against the wall, Carrie unfurled the sheet of paper, reads the poem, and regains her composure before leaving the building and heading to the inauguration of the 46th President of the United States, Saul Berenson.

xxxhomelandxxx

Out of the corner of her eye, Carrie notices the Russian delegation split and Yevgeny turn into one of the corridors where offices for small group meetings are located.

"Are we okay with all the schedule adjustments for tomorrow?" Carrie asks, looking between Saul and David.

"I think so,” David says with a smile. “I also have to admit that this G7-turned-G8 Summit again, has so far been a success.”

Saul returns his smile. “I have to say, I'd gladly take credit for that, instead of admitting that sometimes being bullied by the Secretary of State and your own wife pays off.”

“Bullied? Really?” Carrie shakes her head in mock indignation. “I'm actually surprised it took both Sandy and I to convince you that Russia helping us to unravel and stop a biological weapons attack plot deserves some recognition and that a gesture of goodwill might be in order.”

Saul shrugs. “One can never be too careful.”

“How long did they say the break is?” Carrie asks in the most casual tone she can muster, after a few more remarks are exchanged between them.

"I think we only have about twenty minutes left," David says, glancing at his watch. "Coffee in the atrium?" he offers, and Saul nods, but Carrie gives them a brief smile.

"I think I'll just go get some air.”

xxxhomelandxxx

Carrie cannot remember the last time her heart was beating as fast as now when she is walking across the plain, empty hallway, her footsteps light against the carpeted floor.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one is following her or even looking in this direction, she gasps when she is suddenly whirled around and lands in Yevgeny's arms. She barely has the time to smile before he kisses her, igniting the overwhelming sense of warmth which rushes through her, and she feels the tears gather behind her eyelids at the incredulous realization that she has not seen him, has not felt his arms around her, his lips against hers, in four years.

“I missed you,” Carrie says under her breath, running her fingers through his hair when he showers her face with kisses, not missing an inch, his hands sliding underneath the fabric of her blouse, gliding over her bare skin, making her gasp.

“I missed you,” he whispers into her hair, his fingertips skimming over her face. "I miss you every day. I miss waking up next to you. I miss your voice."

After taking a careful look around, they dash into a nearby office, and close the door behind them.

“I have something for you,” he whispers against her mouth in between feverish kisses, placing his hands on either side of her face, and kissing her again, before reaching into his pocket and presenting her with a small box inside of which there is an even smaller electronic device.

“I thought you were going to propose,” Carrie says wryly, shifting her eyes from the device to his face.

“You divorced me,” Yevgeny retorts with a small smile, placing the item in her hand.

Carrie grimaces. “Don't say that.”

She clings to him when he nestles his face in her neck, kisses his way back to her lips before tilting his head to the side to look at her.

“What is that?” Carrie asks, looking at the device, its many tiny lights and a keyboard with letters, digits and numerous signs.

“It's a coded remote access key to our private command center in Afghanistan,” Yevgeny replies, tracing the contour of her face with his fingertips. “Do you remember that?”

“I remember everything,” she replies earnestly with a sad smile, which he returns. “But-”

“I set up a separate profile for you. After you log in, just set up a password and you can do whatever you want with it. The signal is inherently encoded, so you can display the data, the images and footage at any monitor and they won't leave a trace. Maybe you'll find it useful. After what almost happened with China, it's probably best to stay vigilant.”

Carrie nods. “Thank you,” she says, trying to smile but wincing and almost bursting into tears instead.

Yevgeny pulls her into his arms, holds her tight, and she wraps her arms around him, pressing herself to him as close as possible. In the hollow silence that falls, with only indistinct noises humming somewhere in the distance, it seems to Carrie that she can hear the ticking of her watch, each second bringing them back to the moment when they have to part.

“Our son has your eyes,” Yevgeny murmurs with his lips against her cheek.

“He has your smile,” Carrie replies, taking his hand in hers and intertwining their fingers together. “And your personality,” she adds in a tone that makes Yevgeny smile.

“That didn't come out as a compliment.”

Carrie snorts under her breath. “Well, I'm trying to be broad-minded, but his preschool teachers weren't thrilled when he convinced his entire group to jump out of the window and sneak out to go to The International Spy Museum, because the recess was boring.”

“This actually sounds like something you'd do, not me,” Yevgeny says teasingly after a moment of mock-consideration, and to that Carrie responds by widening her eyes at him in feigned surprise. ”Did they actually get inside?”

“Yes, they did,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “He bought tickets online with his phone and got everyone 'I lie for a living' t-shirts, edible paper for writing secret messages, and shocking pens.”

“What's a shocking pen?” Yevgeny asks with an amused frown.

“Oh you will find out.”

They look at each other with bright smiles which fade quickly and they embrace again in silent understanding that the time is up.

“Which room?” Yevgeny asks, when Carrie confirms that she is staying in the same hotel as most of the international delegations.

She whispers the number into his ear, but then draws back and gives him a questioning look in reply to which, he places a finger across her lips and tells her with a wink that she should order herself some dessert before going to sleep. One hand on the knob, he opens the door and they kiss one more time, slowly, ardently, before walking out and heading into opposite directions, glancing over their shoulders at the same time to exchange lingering looks before vanishing out of sight.

xxxhomelandxxx

"I'm sorry, I know it's late. I should've waited with that until tomorrow," Saul says with a grimace.

"First of all, you should call and ask me to come instead of running around the hotel in the middle of the night. That's not what Presidents do,” Carrie says in a pretendedly scolding tone, making Saul laugh dryly. “Secondly, it's not a problem at all," she reassures him as she continues perusing through the report he brought. "I'm actually waiting for a dessert I ordered."

"You don't have troubles sleeping, do you?" Saul asks, regarding her thoughtfully. "I know being here, seeing Yevgeny, it must be difficult for you and I appreciate that you decided to come despite all that."

"Four years is a long time," Carrie says noncommittally, not looking up from above the pages in her hands. "Okay, I think it's fine. We can bring it up tomorrow," she says, returning the document to Saul.

"Great," he smiles, rising to his feet. "Just what I was hoping to hear. I think your dessert is here," he adds with a brief smile at the sound of someone knocking on the door.

Carrie smiles and follows him, as they exchange a few more words on their way to the door.

"Good night, Carrie. Excuse me," Saul says with a brief smile, maneuvering his way around the serving cart, while the waiter steps away toward the wall to let him pass, and then rolls the cart inside.

Watching Saul disappear around the corner, Carrie closes the door, hoping for a message from Yevgeny instead of a piece of raspberry cake-

But then her eyes widen in astonishment when upon entering the room, she realizes that the waiter's uniform was a disguise and she finds herself in Yevgeny's arms.

"How did you get through security?" Carrie asks in amazement, looking at him with a smile which lights up her eyes.

"I didn't come here to brag," Yevgeny replies with a matching smile, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her into the adjacent bedroom.

Cupping his cheek with her hand she trails kisses across his face and he looks at her, catching a melancholic look in her eyes.

"Don't think about tomorrow, Carrie," he says in a low, warm voice, sitting her down on the bed and kissing her hand before placing it back on his face.

"Says the planner," she retorts, trying to endow her voice with a hint of humor.

He smiles. "Ever since I met you, the joke is on me with that one. Close your eyes," he adds, leaning toward her and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Imagine we are in a house, somewhere far, somewhere warm," he whispers when her eyes flutter closed. "The window is ajar and the sea-scented wind grazes your skin." He runs his fingertips down her arm after sliding the blouse off her. She can feel him take the wedding ring on her necklace between his fingers before pressing his lips to her shoulder. "The saxophone is playing 'Truth' in the background and the sheets are matching the color of the sky outside."

With her head against the pillows, Carrie wraps her arms around Yevgeny's neck when he kisses her, unhurriedly, calmly, as if they have all the time in the world, not one night in years, and it does suddenly feel as if the time disperses into space and cannot confine them anymore, as if it does not matter, because a moment and eternity become one when his hands glide leisurely across her skin and their kisses grow more heated.

In the sultry darkness and in a tight, unyielding embrace, they talk about events they might attend, the peace deal anniversary in Afghanistan, getting married in the church there, a secure channel for video calls, second terms, school events, show-and-tell ideas, and a remote village by the sea which does not have a name or a move in date yet... but it exists all the same.

"Do you remember that lullaby you sang to me in Ramallah?" Carrie asks, stirring in his arms.

"Of all the things I could do to you right now, you want me to sing?" Yevgeny asks in mockingly skeptical voice, his cheek resting on her forehead.

She looks up and smiles, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair. "No. I want it to be our signal." She draws a breath, and lowers her voice. "To call it off. To call it all off one day and be together again."

He nods thoughtfully. "Okay," he whispers, brushing his lips over hers.

A shrill sound of emergency sirens breaks into their conversation and they both frown.

"It won't be tonight, I guess. Sounds like the world's calling," Yevgeny says, pulling them both into a sitting position.

"Yeah, it keeps doing that," Carrie mutters and gives him a faint smile when he takes her face in the palms of his hands and presses his lips to hers.

“I'll see you around,” he says, and then pulls her into his arms and she squeezes her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay when he whispers into her ear, returning her smile. “And I'll love you forever.”


	23. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a wrap! *gasp*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome at Story's End :) (It's been a while since I wrote one of these, but I used to have a little tradition of long author's notes accompanying the last chapters of my long stories, so here you go ;) Actually, it's more of a Thank You Note than an author's note :) This was my first (and possibly the last) multi-chapter story posted on this site, so thank you very much for making me feel welcome here. These several months have been really wonderful and I'll miss writing this fic and knowing that you're reading it :) Of course I'll still be here to read *your* awesome stories, so keep them coming ;)
> 
> I would like to thank very, very, very much:  
> Alo, alpha_al, Annonymau5, aquapen, AZ-5 (elim_garak), backwards_silver, claveldelaire, Daredevil1979, Dmf72, Downtherabbithole850, ErszebetB, LizzieMikaelson13, marrlin46, N., NatBBfan, Reagan80, Roch, shetan, and Sh_ua for your amazing comments! They always made me smile and I'll treasure them forever! :)
> 
> & special hugs go to:
> 
> Anna - for pretty much writing a PhD thesis on this fic! Lol! I still can't believe this little story could evoke such a stunning, thought-provoking response?!? Thank you soooo much for you beautiful comments!!!
> 
> Daredevil1979 and Downtherabbithole850 - for your heartwarming enthusiasm and for being here for every chapter! Just like in life, some chapters are better than others, so I really appreciate that you've been here through the highs and lows ;D
> 
> Carol - for your ongoing support and reading this story despite not being familiar with the show (yet! ;) You are an amazing friend, and that is soooo precious :):):)
> 
> I would also like to thank: alpha_al, aquapen, claveldelaire, Downtherabbithole850, elim_garak, ErszebetB, greenpen, ihopethatyouburn, Katepr, Keira2156, LizzieMikaelson13, marrlin46, Maryassassina, Moy4me2001, NatBBfan, Reagan80, shetan, Sh_ua, The_Nature_of_Daylight, yaya1900, and each of 121 guests for leaving kudos! :) I hope all of you enjoyed this story till its very end :)
> 
> And it's not like they are ever going to see this note ^^ but I would like to thank Claire and Costa for their charismatic and unforgettable performances, and all the creators of Homeland for this riveting and unforgettable series :)

**Epilogue**

"Frances. Frances, wake up!"

Her eyes fluttering open, the first thing Frances sees is the outrageous time that the clock is showing: 3.10am. Which would perhaps seem far less outrageous, if it was not for the fact that she just came back from her first college party mere two hours ago.

"If it's an international crisis, the Vice President can be found in a different room. I just want to go back to sleep. What is it?" She asks sleepily, sitting up in her bed.

"Hey. Sorry. But I need your help," Leo says in a conspiratorial whisper. "Can you keep an eye on mom for a few minutes? Make sure she's sleeping?"

Frances arches an eyebrow on him. "While you'll be doing what, exactly?"

In the faint light emitted by the screen of his phone, it seems to Frances that Leo frowns at the question.

"I need to log into mom's computer," he says somewhat grimly, while trying to sound casual. “It shouldn't take too long.”

"You what?!" Frances raises her voice a little, widening her eyes at her brother and feeling all of a sudden fully awake.

Leo waves his hands at her, trying to hush her. "I just need to check something."

"What do you need to check on mom's computer? And how do you even know the password?"

"I... had a keylogger installed on it," Leo mutters after a moment of hesitation.

Frances blinks rapidly in a slightly theatrical manner. "Are you serious right now?” She stares at Leo in disbelief, although her indignation fades a little when she notices that he seems genuinely upset. “Why would you do that?"

"I need to check who she's been talking to. I overheard something the other day."

"I think that's called eavesdropping," Frances says pointedly with a sigh, throwing the bed covers away and sliding her feet into her slippers. "What did you overhear?" She asks offhandedly, trying not to sound too curious.

On his way toward the door, Leo shoots her a gloomy look. "Mom talked to some guy on a video call. I didn't see him or hear him, because mom had headphones on, but…"

"But what?" Frances gives him an impatient look.

"But I heard her tell him that she loved him,” Leo says with a frown after a longer moment of silence.

"Anything else?" Frances asks matter-of-factly and Leo's frown deepens on how unimpressed she looks.

"She wished him a good day and… kissed the screen."

Not really succeeding in covering her mouth with her hand before a chuckle escapes her, Frances widens her eyes at Leo in a thoroughly amused expression. “Now you're kidding."

“I'm not!” Leo protests grimly, not sharing his sister's amusement at all.

"Okay. Are you sure about all that? Because I'd know if she was dating someone. She'd tell me or... even if she didn't, I'd notice something." Frances gives Leo a sincerely dubious look. “Some... change in her.”

“You wouldn't notice anything if she didn't want you to,” Leo retorts with a humorless snort and Frances opens her mouth to protest, but then thinks twice about it.

“Fine. Maybe you're right. Either way, I don't think hacking into mom's computer is a way to go about verifying this,” she adds, lowering her voice, as they quietly approach the door and emerge out of the room into a dimly lit corridor.

“It's not hacking if I know the password,” Leo mutters under his breath and shrugs when Frances gives him a no-nonsense look over her shoulder before gently pressing the knob to Carrie's room to peer inside.

“Let's go.” She says, after noiselessly closing the door shut.

Leo frowns. “I'll go. You should stay here.”

“She's asleep. She won't suddenly wake up and decides to storm into her office in the middle of the night. Besides. Now I'm curious too,” she adds, walking into the office located across the hallway.

When they close the door behind them, Leo quickly proceeds to logging into the computer, while Frances pulls another chair toward the desk to seat next to him.

“Okay, that is definitely hacking,” she says after watching Leo log into several different platforms before finally opening a video calls application that looks unlike any other Frances has ever seen. “When did you even learn to do that? When I was ten-”

“Shhh,” Leo hushes her, pointing toward the door.

Frances rolls her eyes. “So what's the plan?”

“I know the exact date and time when mom talked to him, so we'll find his name in the call history and call him,” Leo explains flatly. "Look! That's him!” He says, pointing to an alphanumeric nick on the screen

“Alright, so… you want to randomly videocall a stranger at 3am? I guess you do," she murmurs, wincing, when without further ado Leo hits the call button.

Leaning back in her chair, Frances shifts her gaze between the black screen and Leo whose attention remains solely fixed on the connection attempt measured by even sounds signalling the diminishing chances of the call being taken.

"He's probably asleep," Frances offers tentatively.

Staring at the screen with a frown, Leo looks ready to renew the attempt right away, but before there is a need for that, the call gets accepted and after some shuffling a face comes into view.

"Shouldn't you be asleep, bab-"

"Dad?" Leo blinks in surprise, and exchanges a baffled look with Frances who bolts upright in her chair, also caught off guard by this unexpected reveal.

Slowly taking a seat, his forehead wrinkling in a frown, Yevgeny shifts his eyes between Leo and Frances. "Hey. Is everything alright?"

"Yup," Frances chimes in, beginning to suspect what might be going on here, while Leo continues staring at the screen in confusion. "Just spying on mom, which is proving more fun than I thought it would be. What are you guys up to?"

Before Yevgeny has a chance to answer, Leo blurts out the thought that suddenly crosses his mind as the most plausible explanation. "Are you and mom getting back together?"

Her eyes darting between them, Frances notices a pained smile that flickers across Yevgeny's face at the sight of Leo's eyes lighting up in a hopeful grin.

Yevgeny runs his hand across his face and sighs heavily. "Not exactly," he says cautiously.

"Why not?" Leo exclaims, perplexed, his smile turning into a frown. "Mom loves you. I heard her say that! So... you don't love her?" He asks in a strained voice.

Yevgeny chuckles brokenly. "I love your mom very, very much. But… we can't get back together, because... we never really broke up."

Leo shakes his head with a confused expression on his face. "I don't… understand."

"If you love each other, why did you get a divorce?" Frances asks, formulating the question for Leo's sake in order to hopefully get a clear answer.

"What's going on in here?"

Turning in their seats, Frances and Leo look at Carrie when she suddenly appears in the room.

“Hi mom,” Frances says with a mockingly sheepish smile.

"You know, Carrie, you can put a password on this thing," Yevgeny says when their eyes meet.

Carrie looks away with a brief smile before looking back at him. "Thanks. And maybe you should teach him fishing instead of programming." Walking up toward the computer, she playfully ruffles Leo's hair, a gesture which depending on his mood annoys him or makes him laugh, but this time elicits no response.

"At the risk of sounding like an adult," Frances cuts in after clearing her throat. "Could we get back on topic?"

Carrie draws a breath. "The topic of breaking into my computer?"

Frances snorts humorlessly. "Mom."

"If everything is okay between you, why aren't we all living together?" Leo asks, looking between his parents.

"Because…" Carrie glances at Yevgeny who gives her a small smile, "because if we did, we couldn't-" She trails off, slightly caught off guard by the sudden difficulty of explaining what always felt so clear, so obvious.

"You couldn't what?" Leo prompts impatiently, and for a few moments, his genuine and utter confusion renders Carrie speechless, ignites a strange flame of doubt that the ultimate explanation she may offer might somehow not be enough.

"They couldn't do their jobs," Frances suddenly says in a casual tone that stings Carrie even more than Leo's confusion. "They couldn't do their jobs if they were together.”

"It's not-" Yevgeny starts and it makes Carrie feel decidedly better that his voice and facial expression seem to indicate that he is as discomfited by Frances' tone and explanation as she is. And Leo's next question does not really help the situation either.

“Can't you just get different jobs?”

The silence that falls seems to weigh heavily over the room for more than a few seconds.

“I think that's what silent dismay sounds like,” Frances says in a pretendedly cheerful tone, shifting her gaze between Carrie and Yevgeny, and giving Leo a smile that he does not reciprocate.

Instead, he jumps to his feet and storms out of the room.

With a frown, Carrie turns to follow him, but Frances stops her.

“I'll go talk to him. I know better how he feels,” she says when Carrie appears unconvinced. “I'm mad too,” she adds with a hint of humor in her voice. “I'm not ten years old. You could've told me.”

“Frances-” Carrie calls after her but she only gives her a brief, sad smile over her shoulder before leaving the room.

“Carrie.”

Yevgeny's voice makes her turn back toward the computer and slump down into a chair in front of it.

“I don't know why I thought it'd never come to this,” Carrie says tonelessly, propping her head on her elbow.

“I'll talk to them when they come here next week. And I didn't teach Lev how to break into other people's computers.”

Carrie chuckles under her breath. “Well, now you can cross that off the list.”

Yevgeny returns her smile. “Touché.”

“I'll go talk to them now,” Carrie says with a sigh.

Yevgeny nods, raising his hand and pretending to brush Carrie's hair off hair eyes. She smiles a little, performing the gesture herself, and pushing her hair behind her ears.

“I'll see you in Davos,” he adds with a wink.

xxxhomelandxxx

“Okay, your turn, young man,” David says, trying to hide his amusement in order to match Leo's demeanor which seems serious enough, and he finds it rather commendable for a kid to approach a school project with such solemnity. Then again most school projects probably do not involve a conversation with the President of the United States, nor most kids would have the opportunity to come up with such an idea.

“Thank you,” Leo says, rising to his feet and heading to the Oval Office, taking his backpack and a folder with him.

“Hello,” Saul says when he enters the room, motioning for him to take a seat in a chair across from him. “That was a very official way of requesting a meeting,” he adds with a smile, pouring the tea for both of them and leaning back in his chair.

“I wanted to make an official request,” Leo replies in a low tone, glancing at the folder in his hands.

Saul follows his gaze, also taking notice of the backpack and wondering if this being allegedly a school project might explain why this meeting seems to be happening during school hours, especially since Carrie did not mention anything about it.

“Alright. What is it?” Saul asks and then sighs and blinks apologetically when a phone rings. "I'll need to take this."

Leo watches him answer the phone, glancing around the office and recalling what he heard about this building and its history at school and from his mom. She always said it was a symbol of freedom. How strange that something that has kept their family torn apart can be a symbol of ability to act without constraint.

"It's good news," Saul says, coming back from his desk. "And actually, it's good news because of your mother."

Leo's mouth twitches but he manages to ask the question expected under the circumstances.

"Well, there was a group, a large group of children, mostly your age and a little older, who got kidnapped, straight from their village, from their homes, by a very dangerous militant organization," Saul explains and nods with a brief smile when Leo mutters the name and proves to be familiar with the story. "They disappeared. No one could find them. No one could retrieve them. But your mother found a way and I just got a message that they were brought to safety," Saul concludes with a twinkle of genuine joy in his eyes, Leo stares at him in silence and it occurs to Saul that the boy does not just look serious, but curiously gloomy.

“That's good,” Leo says at last, pondering the strange feeling that seems to be tugging on all of his thoughts at once, making it impossible to dismiss what he just heard and focus only on his reason for coming here today, which all of a sudden feels incredibly, painfully selfish. He wonders if that is what his parents would feel like every day if they were not doing what they are doing now. It would be horrible to live with this kind of pain every day. He draws a breath, grabs his backpack and says in an utterly resigned tone, abruptly rising to his feet. “I have to go.”

Before Saul has the time to say anything to stop him, he is already near the door, but then stops in his tracks when he runs into Carrie in the doorway. Saul narrows his eyes at the scene upon noticing how baffled Carrie looks by the encounter.

"Did they cancel school today?" She asks with a questioning frown.

Leo shrugs. "I don't know. Haven't been there," he says brusquely, holding her gaze, before walking past her, stopping only for a second to give her the folder. "I wanted to submit this. But I didn't."

After following him with her eyes for a few seconds, Carrie opens the folder with a confused grimace which turns into a sad, frustrated expression upon finding only a single sheet of paper inside.

"What is it?" Saul asks with a small, curious smile.

"My resignation," Carrie says with a humorless snort. "It seems that my son wanted you to fire me." She sighs, slightly troubled by the lengths to which Leo was apparently willing to go to fix their family situation.

"All the kids want their parents to have impressive occupations, but at the same time to always be home and have time for them. It's just the way it is," Saul says with a reassuring smile, which Carrie tries to return.

"I'll go talk to him," she says before turning around to follow Leo who is already half way through the garden when she catches up with him.

Standing by the window with a pensive frown, Saul watches the scene unfold, Leo reluctantly turning around, Carrie saying something, and receiving what seems like a grumpy response. After a few more words, Carrie shrugs with a grimace that looks like it must be accompanied by tears. Her son continues looking at her, but there is a change in his demeanor, and after a moment his guarded expression changes and he runs to Carrie and embraces her, which seems to make her cry more as she returns his hug.

xxxhomelandxxx

“Is he still angry?” Yevgeny asks, glancing at Lev who did not even spare him a glance since leaving the plane and while walking toward the car.

“You wish,” Frances snorts, adjusting the scarf around her neck. “He's just really sad,” she says, before getting into the car next to Lev. "Congratulations on the new GDP," she adds to brighten the mood, and Yevgeny returns her smile but Leo's facial expression remains indifferent.

Despite Yevgeny's continued efforts, only Frances is willing to participate in the conversation on their way from the airport to the house, while Lev ignores all the questions, his gaze fixed on the car window, absently looking at the changing landscape outside. It reminds Yevgeny of their ride back home with Carrie after that fateful jazz concert when her embassy courier got arrested and his suspicions proved true, but instead of a pang of anger or disappointment, all he felt then was the need to make her feel safe.

"I thought we could go to St. Petersburg tomorrow," Yevgeny tries to spark a conversation again. "You wanted to see Konstantin Palace?"

He gives Frances a smile when she expresses her own enthusiasm and then tries both elbowing and tickling Leo to make him say something, but to no avail.

When they arrive at the residence in the western part of the Moscow Region, Lev marches straight to his room and closes the door behind him.

"Well, that went well," Frances says, when a couple of hours after their arrival, they end up sitting to dinner alone with Yevgeny, while Lev claims not to be hungry. She stifles a chuckle when Yevgeny runs his hand over his face with a humorless grimace. "For the record,” Frances continues, squinting, “I tried to highlight the fact that neither of you is dead _and_ I managed to thwart a couple of devious plots.”

"Should I be afraid to ask?" Yevgeny asks with a smile.

Which turns into a frown when Frances explains the plots to be ranging from somewhat amusing like "Jeff and Natasha" (which entailed telling Yevgeny that Carrie was dating a Jeff while telling Carrie that he was seeing a Natasha) to quite appalling like "dying wish" (faking a terminal illness by hacking into a medical imaging database).

"I think we need to talk," Yevgeny says peering into Leo'v's room after opening the door despite Lev not responding to the sound of knocking.

"Yeah, maybe ten years from now," Lev scowls, but then blinks when Yevgeny unceremoniously tosses his headphones across the room and shuts his computer off by unplugging it.

"I'll see you in the library in five minutes," Yevgeny says in a casual tone before leaving the room.

It takes less than four minutes for Lev to shuffle into the library room with a frown on his face.

"Is it because you're from different countries?" Lev asks, lingering by the door.

He utters the words as if they are some abstract notions and for a split second it seems to Yevgeny that they are. Before the heavy, glittering dust of the past and the future settles again, and he feels protective of that distinct right to care for this particular country and this particular people.

"We could live half a year in Russia and half a year in the US," Lev continues, mistaking Yevgeny's moment of silent reflection for a moment of reconsideration.

"It's not about that," Yevgeny says with a brief smile, motioning for Lev to sit down, his words reminding Yevgeny of Carrie's remark regarding the flags of their countries sharing the same colors... As complicated as that time of their lives was, even almost a decade later, he still finds it impossible to think of it without a suffocating sense of longing at the memory of them living together, being together every day, every night.

"I understand that you're upset, but you can't continue acting like that," Yevgeny says, shaking himself out of his reverie. He looks at Lev whose gaze remains stubbornly fixed at an unidentifiable point in space. "For instance, you can't just go and file your mom's resignation."

"I didn't."

"But you wanted to. And your mom worked too hard to be where she is now to have all that fall apart because of strange incidents like that."

"She said she never wanted to be a politician."

"She's more than that," Yevgeny says with a warm, lopsided smile. "But even so, that's not the way to advise anyone on a career change, writing a resignation in their name and making that decision for them."

For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Lev's eyes shift to Yevgeny. "I don't think anyone asked me if I wanted to have divorced parents."

With a sigh, Yevgeny tilts his head to the side. "How is it that you were never throwing tantrums when you thought we were really divorced?"

"I'm not throwing tantrums," Lev protests grumpily and looks back at him in silence for a few seconds before continuing. "Earlier I just… didn't want you to be unhappy… like me." Averting his gaze from Yevgeny whose expression becomes more grim at that, he adds. "I was unhappy because you weren't together, but I thought you'd be unhappy if you were. That's why people get divorced, right?" he mutters with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Because they are not happy together."

"So you are upset because you think we are all unhappy now?" Yevgeny reasons carefully after a moment of silence.

Lev nods, glancing at Yevgeny with a frown. "Are you happy? You said you miss mom. And you said you never wanted to be a politician either."

"I didn't," Yevgeny says wistfully. "I always wanted to be… out there. So did your mom. But there comes a moment when you realize you can't stay out there forever," he says, smiling briefly at the memory evoked by the words, Carrie's lithe silhouette so in sync with the shades of the desert and the sky, her momentary smile lighting up her eyes. "Sometimes you have to adjust, at least temporarily, to the situation. But what we're doing right now is a means to an end, and-"

Leo interrupts him, suddenly turning to him. "I know mom and you are doing all that important stuff," he says earnestly. "But… can't you be together and still help people?" He huffs in frustration.

For a moment, Yevgeny marvels inwardly at Lev's conviction that this is the main objective of their work. Not because it is not, but because he has never thought about it this way before. Everything they have ever done was done for the people of their countries. Yet he has never categorized it as helping in his head, and he does not think Carrie has either, especially in the context of some necessary, unavoidably ruthless actions. But there is something purifying about Leo's understanding of it and Yevgeny thinks that he could get used to thinking about all that this way.

Clasping Lev's shoulder, he squeezes it in a reassuring gesture. "We are working on it, okay?"

Lev nods and after a moment of hesitation decides to finally smile. "Okay."

xxxhomelandxxx

"I have two questions," Frances says, looking around thedisarrayed room with her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. "What are we looking for? And what are we going to tell Yevgeny if he comes back early?"

"We'll put everything back before he comes back," Leo says rummaging through another stash of books. "And I don't know exactly what we're looking for."

Frances shakes her head with a brief laugh. "That's... not helpful. I thought you guys talked everything out?"

"We did, but I'm not going to wait until mom and dad decide to end this. What if they keep putting it off? It's the kind of mission that can last forever. That's why we need to find the abort signal now," Leo explains, although Frances only gives him a puzzled look in response. "Every mission's got one. It's like an emergency signal to stop an operation."

"I know what it is," Frances says levelly, propping her hands on her hips. "I'm giving you a confused look because I wonder if you're seriously hoping to find, within two hours, something that can literally be anything."

"But it isn't anything," Leo retorts. "It is something."

Frances gives him an unamused look. "It can be a word, a phrase, an item of literally any kind. Do you really think your dad keeps it on a shelf with an 'abort signal' label?"

Leo rolls his eyes. "You don't understand. If it's an emergency signal, it has to be ready to be sent at any moment."

"Yes, but there's no way to tell this is it," Frances insists.

"Yes, there is. If we find the exact same thing at home here and at home in the US, that's how we'll know. Because this signal has to be the same thing."

“I don't know if you know, but sometimes people have the same books... or vinyls," she says, looking through the records on one of the shelves. "Besides, you'd seriously make this decision for them? Send out fake abort signals, make them quit their jobs? If that's what you think would happen."

"I'm going to worry about it once we find it," Leo says flatly, checking the floor under the carpet for possible secret compartments.

When he looks up, Frances widens her eyes at him in such a bemused way that it makes him laugh and they share a smile.

xxxhomelandxxx

"I can't change your mind, can I?" Saul shakes his head with a sigh. "Could I ever." He snorts mirthlessly.

Carrie smiles. "You are always welcome to come visit."

"Am I supposed to believe that you're leaving the White House to run a cozy inn in a remote village?" He asks, returning her smile.

Suppressing a chuckle, Carrie shrugs. "Believe it or not, it gets really busy, especially in winter." After holding Saul's wistful gaze for a while she adds. "You will hear from me, I promise."

"I expect so. How much time do I have to come up with a goodbye gift?"

Carrie exhales slowly. "The only gift I could hope for is your trust. Did I get it back?" She asks, but at the same time it does not really sound like a question, and with a faint smile, Carrie rises to her feet and walks toward the door.

"In Davos, they have those small ice skating rinks inside the forests," Saul says, and Carrie stops in her tracks. "I always liked taking late night walks near them. Did you know they even have them monitored? There is a camera hidden in a tree next to each of them."

Slowly turning around, Carrie looks at him, her forehead slightly wrinkled in an uncertain frown which turns into an astounded one when Saul adds.

"While on a walk there, I might've accidentally broken one of such cameras once." He lowers his voice and gives Carrie a warm half a grimace, half a smile that brings tears to her eyes. "If this doesn't answer your question, I don't know what else possibly could."

xxxhomelandxxx

"Aunt Frances! Uncle Leo!" The three-year-old twins start screaming as soon as Frances and Leo enter Josie's flat.

"Thank you for agreeing to watch them," Josie says, clasping a necklace around her neck. "Ruby is of no help as always," she adds with a sigh, while trying to take a remote control away from her toddlers when they start fighting over it.

"It's not a problem at all," Frances says with a smile, glancing at the tv screen when she notices Leo's attention also being drawn to it.

A logo comes up on the screen, which makes Frances and Leo exchange a quick look. The letter 'A' is shown against the black background, made out of three straight lines in three different colors: blue, red, and white.

"They are talking about it again," Josie says, turning up the volume. "It's kind of cool, isn't it?"

"...Yesterday, the enigmatic organization known as the Independent International Intelligence Agency thwarted yet another terrorist attack by alerting the authorities in time to prevent what could have led to a great tragedy..."

xxxhomelandxxx

"... It's been almost two years since we first heard about the Independent International Intelligence Agency, and next to nothing is still known about it, as it continues its clandestine work of untwisting international terrorist plots and exposing illicit activities related to chemical and biological weapons. So far it still remains a mystery who is running it, and which countries, if any, have endorsed its launch…"

Looking at the tv screen with his eyebrows raised, Dar Adal shifts his gaze to the person who comes up to him and tells him that the prison warden wants to speak to him.

"Well, I'm sure it won't take you too long to pack," the prison warden says when Dar Adal seems to react with a mixture of displeasure and distrust when he is informed that his life sentence was recalled on the recommendation of the President.

"What's the catch?" Dar asks sourly.

The prison warden shrugs. "As far as I'm concerned you can stay." He barks a laugh. "I know nothing beyond what I was told, which wasn't much." Taking a letter out of his drawer, he hands it to Dar.

"What is it?" Squinting, Dar scrutinizes the handwriting, which does not look like Saul's. _"If you're not much for holding grudges, by the end of this letter, you may have a job."_ His eyes skim the text until they stop at the recently quite ubiquitous in the media IIIA logo placed at the bottom of the page.

With a twitch of his mouth, Dar looks up from above the letter. "I presume there is a car waiting for me."

xxxhomelandxxx

When the morning fog and the clouds disperse, it is always the clearest view she has ever seen, the snow-covered mountain tops above the smooth surface of a crystal clear lake in this country that does not need to have a name, right in front of their address-less secret home they visit as often as they can while traveling between all their equally secret bases on five continents.

Standing near the tall windows, her eyes fixed on the beautiful view, Carrie smiles when she feels Yevgeny wrap his arms around her from behind and trail kisses across her cheek.

"I'm glad you like it here," he murmurs against her skin.

Turning around in his arms, Carrie cups his face in her hands. "I like it here with you."

He presses his lips to hers, and they are warm and safe, coarse and unpredictable against hers. The kiss feels timeless, as if it started a long time ago, and now it is never going to end. His arms close around her and the sizzling feeling inside rushes through her, brightening all thoughts of the past and of the future, and for a single overwhelming moment everything, from excruciating pain to exhilarating bliss makes such perfect sense that it takes her breath away.

"I never asked you…" Yevgeny whispers against her lips. "Why did you decide to send the signal at that particular moment?"

It was their unwritten agreement that when either of them would send the lullaby to find the other one in a prescribed way, they would not argue with its timing and would just proceed with all the steps.

Carrie narrows her eyes at him in a smile. "I didn't. You did."

They look at each other in slight confusion until understanding dawns on them.

"You must've told him," Carrie says, struck by the thought. “He wouldn't just guess it.”

Yevgeny widens his eyes at her. "So that's what happened. You told him."

"I didn't!"

Carrie stifles a laugh when Yevgeny brushes his mouth over hers, captures her lips in an ardent kiss.

“You were right,” he says, resting his forehead against hers.

“About what this time?”

“That we could do better.”

Carrie smiles. “We definitely try.”

~~~ The End ~~~


End file.
